


nothing i can hold; nothing i can have; (nothing that i know)

by atlas_oulast



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fluff & Angst, Ooc Max, Pregnancy, Waitress AU, its not fanon max that’s for damn sure, kinda. sorta. not really. just tagging so nobody can say i didn’t warn u
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlas_oulast/pseuds/atlas_oulast
Summary: Zoey Clarke is just a waitress at Joan’s Diner, unremarkable, other than her pies that are always met with universal praise. Nobody much cares about her outside of this tiny little bubble of safety, within the walls of a sleepy little Georgian diner.
Relationships: Autumn/Tobin Batra, Eddie/Mo (Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist), Leif Donnelly/Jessica Hamilton, Zoey Clarke & Autumn, Zoey Clarke & Mo, Zoey Clarke/Leif Donnelly, Zoey Clarke/Max Richman
Comments: 79
Kudos: 14





	1. letting the day in

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote the first 4 chapters ages ago and im gonna finish this during nanowrimo... im posting it now so that i am beholden to it and i am forced to work on it. good luck @ me

Sugar, butter, flour. 

Zoey plucked the ingredients she needed from the pantry, and started mixing her dry ingredients into a bowl, the wet ingredients it another. She didn’t need to look at a recipe book, the motions were muscle memory. Sugar, butter, and flour, and the rest was up to her.

Maybe she could make this a cinnamon crust, or throw in some sweet potatoes. Or both. Maybe some bacon... actually, that really wasn’t a bad idea.

She grabbed some bacon from the industrial fridge in the kitchen and chopped up a whole package of it before throwing it in a cast iron pan and turning it on high, making a mental note to wash it before Eddy and everyone else arrived, because she didn’t need to hear Eddy complaining about her dirty dishes in the morning.

While the bacon cooked, she got back to her little corner in the kitchen, making pie crust after pie crust after pie crust for the day. She’d need several for the pie of the day, and then even more for the regular pies... backyard apple, citrus morning, chocolate crème delight. 

Pie crusts went in and out of the oven, cooked ones coming out and set at the ready to be filled, raw ones taking their place, soon to join them at the other side of the counter. 

During a lull in tending to the crusts, she made the filling. Blueberries, sugar, a dash of maple syrup, a bit of vanilla extract, some sea salt, and then the crispy bacon from the cast iron pan.

She didn’t even have to think about it. It was human nature, the ingredients, the amounts, the way she mixed it and poured it into the pie crusts, and laid the raw dough over top in a cute little criss cross design. 

And if Zoey didn’t have to think about the pie making, she could think about herself. Her life. The emotions she was pouring into this goddamn pie. 

She was what she would consider ‘happy enough.’ She was married, she had a job and something to do with her hands, she had friends. Work friends, but where else was she supposed to make friends?

Zoey was lonely in Georgia, and her mom was lonely in Chicago, and then she came here, married her dad, and then she was born.

She kinda wished her mom had stayed lonely in Chicago, making pies in her apartment and having not a care in the world before she died. Because then, Zoey wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that her mom probably would’ve slapped her silly if she knew that Zoey had the exact same life as her.

Working in a diner in a small town, making pies, a husband, waitress friends. What next, she’d have a daughter, and she’d have to teach her to make Lonely Chicago pie in the kitchen while her daddy was in a bad mood?

People always asked her what was inside the pies. As if it was that simple.

Deep dish blueberry bacon pie sounded simple enough. Sugar, butter, flour. Bacon, blueberries. A dash of this, a sprinkle of that. Her hopes and dreams, her emotions, her longings. 

Maybe one day she’d break the cycle and get out of here, go make pies in some big city, make Lonely Chicago pie while lonely in Chicago. It’d be better than this place. Better than this life. Stupid husband, stupid job, stupid feet that always hurt from running around all day for minimum wage and some tips. She’d rather be anywhere than here, surrounded by people who’d given up, just like her. 

What was it like to have hopes and dreams and be able to execute them? Zoey thought she was going to get to New York or some place, or, hell, Atlanta or Nashville, riding along with her husband in his little pickup with his piano and guitar and his voice. But they’d sold the grand piano, all they had now was the guitar and some electric keyboard he bought on a boy’s trip to Atlanta where he blew a whole paycheck. She’d raised her voice about how _stupid_ that was, and she’d gotten a good swat or two to make her shut up.

He used to have dreams, used to have ambition. Now he was okay with giving up in this small town in South Georgia, away from everything and everyone consequential in the world. She’d been wooed by him and his crooning voice in a Mexican restaurant down the road, drinking a margarita at age seventeen because her best friend’s mom worked there and let her have them, because her mom was sick as shit and her dad was throwing shit. 

He’d wanted to go make it big in a big city, she’d been good with that, wanting to escape, and before she even had a chance to reach for the wheel, he’d steered them into a 1971 split level with ugly carpet and ugly furniture, a beat up 2009 Chevy Silverado, and his minimum wage job as a construction worker, her minimum wage job as a waitress, and if she dared even try and nudge the stick shift, she was afraid at what would come flying at her.

In her mind, she came up with an idea for a pie, she’d jot it down in a notebook somewhere and likely forget about it, but right now, as she folded the blueberry and bacon filling into her pie crust, she planned it out in her head.

_Gave Up On My Dreams Pie._

Two cups of brown sugar, a half a cup of molasses, and graham crackers, for a complicated crust, just like the one in the kitchen of her house. The filling has vanilla bean extract, lime zest, raspberries and boisenberries tossed through the food processor, and dark chocolate, along with all the disappointment her mother was probably shooting at her from angel eyes somewhere up in heaven, because lord knows that Ruth Clarke, of all people, got into heaven. Stir in some of her dreams that had been shot down both by her and her husband, never to be realized.

Sugar, butter, flour. She knew how to do this. Zoey knew the formula, the recipe, the plot line, for her story and her pies. Maybe she’d live longer than her mama, but the one part of the story she refused to partake in was that there was no way in hell she was having a daughter of her own and condemning her to the third generation of a sad, sad story.

She’d always wanted to take the midnight train _out_ of Georgia, how come she had to stay here and make pies for some fucking diner?

_Because it’s all I have,_ she reminded herself silently.

Some of the day’s pies were already done by the time the next person got in, Mo, a fellow waitress and her best friend. Mo was technically required by company policy to wear the waiter uniform instead of the waitress one, but he didn’t care, and even in some sleepy Georgian town, nobody seemed to make too much of a fuss over it. He was black, switching up his wigs daily, today with a blonde wig with big loopy curls, that Eddy had once compared to Miss Piggy. 

“That’s what I’m going for,” Mo had said, flipping his hair dramatically and sashaying back to the dining room.

“You ready for the daily grind?” Mo asked, picking up his apron from the hook on the wall.

Zoey smiled half heartedly, taking a pie out of the oven. She knew to never stop moving, because the diner kept moving, and so did the world. 

“Only if the daily grind involves coffee,” Zoey said, blowing a piece of her red hair out of her eyes as she set the pie on the cooling rack.

Mo raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t y’all have that Keurig that his dad got him for his birthday?”

“Yeah, it’s broken. He jammed it, so I’m going on pure adrenaline this fine morning.”

“Oh, honey, I can make you a cup of coffee, I’ll take it when Eddy throws a fit.” Mo set off to the other side of the kitchen, where the coffee pots had been filled and set last night after close, so there’d always be something ready. Mo poured two cups while Zoey kept herself busy with her pies.

“What’s the special pie today?”

“Deep dish blueberry bacon,” Zoey said, stepping back from the oven and taking the mug of coffee gratefully. 

“You look beat already. How early did you come in?” 

Zoey groaned, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve. “I don’t even remember at this point... it’s been hours and hours and all I can think about is... pie.”

Mo laughed. “That’s not a new thing with you... that’s you all the time.”

Zoey took a big sip of coffee, only half regretting it when her tongue recoiled, burnt, like she’d eaten too much pineapple. Good idea for a pie, actually... Burning Pineapple Tryst. Chocolate chili filling with pineapple, cinnamon crust, maybe some lime zest and custard on top, burnt creme brûlée style to sell it.

“Don’t remind me,” Zoey said, shaking her head.

“No need. I’m gonna go get the dining room ready, or face Eddy’s wrath, you good?”

Zoey took a (slower) sip of coffee and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Gonna roll out these pies till I die.”

“It’s what you do best, Zo!” Mo laughed, turning and heading into the dining room.

She wished that that wasn’t true.

Slowly, the rest of the staff trickled in. The aforementioned grumpy-ass cook, Eddy, came in, grumpy as always. 

“Let’s get this show on the road. You ready with those pies for the day, Zoey?” He asked gruffly, donning his trademark dish towel over his shoulder, already looking tired and sweaty.

“Yep, I’m ready to throw them out onto the stands.”

“Hopefully not literally,” Eddy deadpanned, turning on the flat top and the stoves for the day. “What’s the special pie of the day?”

“Deep shit blueberry bacon,” Zoey said confidently, growing confused when Eddy gave her an equally confused look.

“Deep shit blueberry bacon, huh?”

_Oh._

“Deep dish... deep dish!” Zoey corrected quickly.

He blinked. “Get them out on the stands.”

Mo and Zoey worked to get the pies out on the stands, as finally, Autumn, one of the other waitresses and Zoey’s other only friend, came in. Autumn, with her tiny frame that’d make anyone jealous, blonde hair, and green eyes, flighty and scared of everything. She scurried into the kitchen, looking properly ashamed of herself.

“Should’ve been here an hour ago,” Eddy greeted her grumpily.

Autumn hung up her purse on one of the hooks. “Sorry, I overslept, my alarm was all messed up.”

“Save it, just get to work,” Eddy said, turning back to the eggs he had on the flat top.

“Yep!” Autumn said, hurrying to get her apron on.

“Alright, let’s open up!” Eddy called, and Mo sashayed slowly over to the front of the diner, turning on the OPEN sign and unlocking the door.

Something Zoey had only ever told Mo and Autumn was about to happen, judging by the music in the background.

There was this... this thing that happened to her. People sang songs to her about how they were feeling. If it was an individual person, she’d have to help them with whatever problem they were undoubtedly dealing with. If it was a group, usually it was just something of a collective consciousness. And if it was her... she tried to ignore it once it was over.

_The day starts like the rest we've seen_

_Another carbon copy of an old routine_

_Days keep coming,_

The song was begun by Mo and Autumn, and also Zoey... because she’d been compelled to sing along. It was one of _those_ songs, where she’d have to acknowledge that she was part of the collective consciousness and she felt the horribly sad way that everyone else did. If she had to sing along in a group... it was usually frustration or sadness.

_One out, one in_

_They keep coming_

“And make the coffee strong enough to chew!” Eddy called from the kitchen.

Oh, god. The song was calling to her now, to add her voice. She physically couldn’t resist... but mentally, she wanted to. At least she was the only one who heard herself

_I don't know what I wish I had_

_But there's no time now for thinking things like that_

_We've got too much to do_

Zoey ignored the fact that these lyrics were her inner truth. The songs she heard were the truth of how someone was feeling, no matter how much they denied it... so. But it didn’t matter. 

Like the song said, there was no time now for thinking things like that.

_Too much to do,_ Mo and Autumn chimed in, the three harmonizing for the chorus.

_All these same things_

_We're always_

_Opening up_

_Letting the day in_

_Over a cup_

_We'll say "hello, how ya been?"_

The instinctual choreography called for the three to stand together and snap out dish towels, and look thoroughly done. Whatever, at least it wasn’t anything elaborate.

_Looking around_

_Seeing the same things_

_Every day brings._

The three broke apart, now, going off to tend to their tables while still singing... at least in Zoey’s head.

_”Hello, how ya been?"_

_"Thank you, come again!"_

_Some things never change!_

No more choreography, unless you counted the three of them whirling around and serving their tables in something of a time lapse manner. But the singing continued, Mo taking a verse for himself.

_I wouldn't call this place a happy end_

_But I been 'round the block and just came back again_

_A small town like ours ain't much_

_But sometimes home is where your ass ends up._

“Order up!” Eddy called, in time with the music. Autumn took the next verse as Zoey served her tables, somehow instinctually knowing what they were saying, because she couldn’t hear shit.

_Ordered up is how the day will find me_

_Everything in its place and time_

_And I like the way most of the days look exactly the same._

Classic Autumn. Too afraid to leave her little bubble, just like the rest of them.

“Order up!” Eddy again.

Now, the three waitresses sung together again, still never stopping the tireless whirl of feet and plates and pie and eggs and bacon and coffee... so much fucking coffee. They stopped to all glance at their (bare) wrists.

_Check the clock_

_Tick, tick tock_

Did it count as singing if Eddy was technically just barking out orders to the beat?

_Don't stop!_

_Serve with a smile!_

The girls took the song again, Zoey feeling almost nauseous from the rapid pace she was having to move at. But she’d been feeling nauseous lately... so this wasn’t a new thing.

_Hurry up, fill the coffee cup_

_And then in a while_

_Take a breath when you need to be reminded that with days like these_

_We can only do the best we can_

_'Til we do it again..._

“Come on, move it now!” _Again_ with Eddy. Sometimes she wanted to smack him with that spatula he liked to wave around and give orders with- even if it’d get her fired. And then what’d she do? Become some ditzy little housewife who only made pies for her husband and a million bratty kids?

Again, this mean old force in the universe commanded her to sing and join the chorus.

_Opening up_

_Letting the day in_

_Opening up_

_Some things never change_

_"Hello, how ya been?"_

_"Thank you, come again!"_

_Some things never change..._

The song ended, and then everything all of a sudden came back to the normal speed of time, and the transition made Zoey _incredibly_ nauseous.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she said to an older couple at a two person table in a corner. She hurried away, leaving them the coffee pot, and barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up.

It was possible she could be... no. She had slept with him recently... a stupid red dress, getting drunk to cope with her feelings, and twenty minutes later she was being held down as he did his thing. It was about as fun as it sounded, as in, it was no fun for Zoey, but all the fun in the world for her goddamn husband.

Good for him.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and flushed the toilet, going to the sink to wash her hands so hard she half expected the skin to come off. She spashed some water on her face, dabbed a bit on her hair to slick it back into the general shape of the ponytail at the nape of her neck, and not a fashionably frazzled hairstyle.

God rest her merry little soul.

Zoey returned to the floor, taking the coffee pot from those poor old folks who didn’t know what to do with themselves, and quickly got back into the swing of work, running around in her little waitress-y way.

How was she supposed to focus when this was not the first time that this had happened?

She’d confused in Autumn and Mo the day after, stressed because she hadn’t known if he’d worn a condom because they’d both been drunk. Or just her. She’d been too drunk to remember. She didn’t want to perpetuate the cycle of her family, but Mo and Autumn had assured her that everything was going to be alright, and she’d made some Burying My Fears Pie and moved on.(Cherries, lemons, and bittersweet chocolate, as well as the unused condom... in the form of plastic wrap over the pie.)

But now, since she’d been throwing up in the morning for awhile now and her boobs were tender as hell (not that hell was very tender), Zoey was beginning to think that she might Have It.

It, being a baby. And knowing her luck, it’d be a girl. 

She didn’t want any fucking baby, and she especially didn’t want to bring a baby into that disgusting house with her parents barely making enough to get by on.

So Zoey stuffed it down, didn’t worry a bit. Because if she lived in denial long enough, maybe it’d go away.

Eventually, one of the waitresses would probably hold an intervention with her and make her do something about it, but if nothing was wrong, she didn’t need to do anything. Everything was fine. She was just sick, she just had a little bug. Bugs were always going around.

“You gonna just stand there all day, sugar?” Eddy’s nagging, annoying ass voice called from the other side of the window, and she realized that she’d been standing on the dining room side of the window, lost in her thoughts, for quite some time now.

“Sorry, Eddy,” Zoey said slowly, wringing her hands and thinking for a moment more about who was due for a check-in at this point, and hurried off to check on table five.

The mom and her two kids with their French fries and burgers at 9am were doing perfectly fine, except that Sammy needed some more chocolate milk. Zoey gave a sweet smile and a “I’ll get that right away,” in her sweet southern twang, and went back to the kitchen with the kid cup.

Sammy got his chocolate milk, and Zoey went to the back of the kitchen to pull more pies out, since several of the stands were already empty. The apple pies needed restocking most of all, but the deep dish blueberry bacon was going over pretty damn well.

Zoey wiped her hands on a dishrag and got back to it, wiping sweat from her brow between tables.

Slowly, the hours eventually moved, and the breakfast crowd cleared out, with only a few people for late breakfast or early brunch still in the dining room, and apparently, Mo took this as an opportunity.

He grabbed Zoey by the hand as she set down her tray for a moment in the kitchen window, and pulled her out.

“Hey, I got customers!”

“Yeah, so do I. It’s time to pee on a stick, Zoey.”


	2. negativity (one line? one line.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey takes a pregnancy test, and wouldn’t you know it, isn’t exactly pleased with the results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no self control and 8 chapters already in drafts... i offer this up for consideration

“Mo, I got tables!” Zoey protested weakly, as Mo paused briefly to grab her hand and tug her along, and motion to Autumn to join them.

“Screw the tables, I bought you one of those cute little tests from the drugstore and gave the cashier the evil eye yesterday afternoon, we’re doing this,” Mo said, grabbing Autumn’s hand when she scurried over and pulling them into the women’s bathroom.

“I got nobody out on the floor!” Eddy called, obviously annoyed. “Y’all need to come out or you’re all fired.”

Mo held up a finger, telling them to wait, as Zoey and Autumn instinctively flinched towards the door.

“What, do you expect me to get on one of those fluffy blue dresses and go wait tables on my own? I got bacon on the flat top!” Eddy continued.

“Should I-“ Autumn began, stepping cautiously towards the door.

“No, just wait,” Mo said, cutting Autumn off, who stepped back to where she was.

“The hell are you even doing in there all at once? I need you all out here, right now. I’m gonna count to ten-“

Eddy only got to seven when he said “Oh, fuck it,” and gave up, walking away.

“Now,” Mo said, pulling a little cardboard box out of his cleavage. Zoey shuddered, wondering how long it’d been in there, and how much that must’ve itched and poked.

He opened the box and handed Zoey the stick, and basically shoved her into a stall. Zoey obliged quietly. She’d pee on this goddamn stick, it’d pop up negative, and they’d be done with this.

“Read the instructions, Autumn,” Mo prompted, and Zoey heard a piece of paper being unfolded and saw Autumn walk towards the door so Zoey could hear her more clearly.

“ _No inserte la varilla de prueba en su vagina_ ” Autumn began.

“No, honey, in _English_ ,” Mo chastised quietly.

“I’m sure not multilingual in this stall, with my pants at my ankles and my customers getting thirsty!” Zoey called.

“Oh, okay, okay, here we go,” Autumn said, and the paper rustled again. “Do not insert the test stick into your vagina.”

“Wow,” Mo laughed. “Thank you, Autumn.”

Why the hell had she gotten herself into this mess? One stupid night... one goddamn stupid night, and it could ruin her life.

“Don’t say that! We don’t know what the test says!” Autumn called, and Zoey realized she’d said it out loud.

Autumn found the correct instructions and Zoey managed to get some pee on it, and then she came out, set the stick on the counter, and washed her hands so hard she thought the skin might come right off.

Mo had a egg timer he’d probably smuggled in from the kitchen, and he set it for however much time it was gonna be- Zoey wasn’t paying attention because she was pacing and biting her nails.

“Relax, Zo. Just... pray your ass off it’s a negative,” Autumn said, grabbing her hand. 

“Praying never did shit for anyone,” Zoey answered in a strained voice. “If there’s a baby in there it’s already there, there ain’t no getting it out.”

“If it’s there... we’ll help you... if you wanna, like, take care of it,” Mo said slowly.

“I don’t wanna do that- not that I judge people who do that, I just... I don’t think I could bring myself to do that.”

“Valid. So then, what’re you planning on doing with it?” Autumn asked, falling her fingers on the edge of the sink, dangerously close to the sink. Zoey swatted them away.

“Well, we don’t know if it’s exists, yet. If it does... then I guess I’m gonna have to raise it, cause it’s still a human being. Not gonna like it, though, I’m not some happy mom who’s gonna post baby bump pictures on Facebook.”

“Do you even have Facebook?” Mo asked.

Zoey shook her head. “Not unless they Joe’s Diner Facebook counts... that’s just pie pictures and the occasional coffee cup, and that’s more Autumn’s cup of tea than mine.”

“You love getting to take the pictures for the Facebook page,” Autumn argues. “I can kinda swing a post together, but you make it look fancy, you make the pies look like they’re glowing... it’s a thing.”

“Oh, is Zoey a secret techno wizard?” Mo asked, as Zoey stuck her hands behind her neck and pulled at the skin, pacing back and forth frantically, a lot more on her mind than Facebook.

“I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m a person who knows how to make a Facebook post, is there anything wrong with that?”

“Nothing inherently, but when you’re really good and won’t even acknowledge it-“

“Yeah, and I might be pregnant,” Zoey cut Autumn off. “God, that fucking red dress... I was dumber than a rock.”

“Oh, I love that red dress! The way it sparkles and it looks like a little ice skating outfit-“

“Oh, stay with us, Autumn, you can resist the fashion coma,” Mo said, shaking Autumn by the left shoulder. Mo was, by far, the more fashion inclined of the three of them, but Autumn did like a nice pretty dress and Gracie Gold at the olympics, skating around like she didn’t have a care in the world, managing to be perfect while making it look effortless.

Zoey would be lying if she said she didn’t envy that. Plus, it looked fun, even if it was probably agonizing... too bad she got to have a career in pies and being tech savvy enough to make a Facebook post, and have it all fly off the rails with the very thought that one drunk night might erase it all.

Gracie Gold didn’t care abott her, didn’t even know she existed. And if Gracie ahold was in her place... she wouldn’t be, because she’d have worked her way out of this place a long time ago, and shiny little red dresses would be reserved for the ice and silver boded skates, and she wouldn’t have any soul crushing husband who crushed her dreams and her, physically, and she wouldn’t be about to throw a daughter into the goddamn mess of a life.

And Zoey couldn’t bake her way out of a baby.

Actually- yes she could. She could bake her way out of it, just like she baked her way out of everything else. In her mind, she could already start shaping the pie together.

“Okay, you’re clearly going into mental breakdown mode, so how about this?” Mo began quickly. “Everyone makes the mistake of sleeping with their husband, so...”

”At least I should’ve been sober enough to demand a condom! I don’t wear a diaphragm... guess I should if I’m going to be a blithering idiot.”

“I got some spermicide, you want some?”

“Hard pass, thanks, Autumn,” Zoey said, pacing faster until Mo grabbed her by the shoulders and stopped her in her tracks.

“You gotta calm down, Zoloft. It’s all gonna be okay, no matter how many lines are on that little plastic stick.” 

“How can I can down? This is how it happened to my mama... now it’s gonna happen to her, too, I guess.”

“Nobody predetermined your future,” Autumn supplied.

“Circumstances matter... my mama didn’t want me to end up like this, but I was too stupid to not see the signs and get out while I still could, and now I’m trapped, just like her.”

“You can always come stay with me, Zoey. I got a full sized twin in my place.” 

Autumn was sweet, but there was just no way. She couldn’t leave... and she couldn’t stay. She had no family and no control over finances... unless she wanted to go stay with her dad, who was perpetually blackout drunk and three quarters of the way to liver failure.

“No, thanks, Autumn. I just... I can’t believe I did this.”

“Just focus on the negative. It’ll all be alright... focus on it and it’ll happen,” Mo suggested.

“If I focus hard enough on making a pie but don’t get out any ingredients, it’s not gonna bake itself.”

“But babies bake themselves,” Autumn said.

“Yeah, with whipped cream up the vajayjay. If I made a pie and left it on the counter and focused on it being gone, it’d still sit there if I didn’t touch it.”

_Whipped Cream Up The Vajayjay Pie,_ Zoey thought to herself.

_Store bought whipped cream mixed with Cool Whip and shaving cream, because we can’t have nice things, a store bought crust, make it like a cream pie the clowns throw in your face. Eat it even though it tastes like shit and cry your brains out, throw it all up later because of the shaving cream._

And maybe two shots of vodka, but she’d dump in the whole bottle.

“Good grief, Zoey,” Mo grumbled. 

“It’s no or it’s yes... but at least you’ll know? I mean, I could’ve got you one of my crystals from home, but I didn’t, so...”

“If it’s in there it’s in there, okay?! How much goddamn time is left on the damn thing?” Zoey snapped.

Mo help up his hands in surrender, and checked the timer. “Five minutes, honey.”

“Oh god... oh god oh god oh god... funny how one moment can ruin my whole life, huh?” Zoey joked darkly, pacing again.

“Don’t say that, we don’t know what the test says!” Autumn admonished quickly. Zoey finally quit pacing and leaned up against the tiled wall, next to the hand dryer.

“Just focus on the negative, and it’ll all be alright,” Mo said.

“Focusing on the negative... focusing, focusing. Hey God, can you hear me? It’s me, Zoey. Send me a sign?”

“Oh, stop that,” Autumn said, swatting her sleeve a bit. Zoey froze.

Because for a moment, it felt like that was her husband, hitting her for not being pliable like raw dough, for softly disagreeing with him, or just because he was pissed.

“Oh... oh, I’m sorry, Zo,” Autumn said, retracting her hand quickly.

“It’s fine,” Zoey said quietly, looking at the black and white tiles on the floor.

Just another reminder of the world she might be bringing a fucking baby into.

“It’s gonna be negative, I just feel it,” Mo said, speaking on the other elephant in the room, metaphorically slapping the other elephant with a spatula so it’d go away. 

“Yeah, it’s gonna come back negative and it’ll all be alright,” Autumn echoed.

Because it felt better to let herself be convinced, Zoey repeated what they said.

“It’s gonna be fine... it’ll come back negative,” she said softly.

“Yeah! And nothing bad will happen, nothing at all. It’s gonna be negative,” Autumn continued.

_Negative._

_Negative._

_Negative._

Zoey, in those final four and a half minutes, allowed the two to convince her that it was fine, that it’d come back negative.

She was starting to lighten up in spirits, too. Already, a pie was forming in her head.

_One Line Pie._

A softer, doughier crust. Plums, passion fruit, and dragonfruit filling, with a touch of lemon and orange zest. The crust covers the filling entirely, save for one line in the very center where you can see deep inside, and see that there’s no baby. An empty uterus and a load off her chest. 

“One line!” Zoey said, almost excitedly. “It’s gonna be one line and I’m gonna get to quit fucking worrying,” she said, putting on a brave smile and going over to the sink to splash some water on her face, not daring to look at the test as she did it. When she looked up into the mirror, she saw Mo put a gentle hand on her shoulder and smile at her gently.

“One line. That’s your new meditation mantra, Autumn. One line’s all it’s gonna be,” he said softly.

Zoey turned away from the mirror and leaned back up against the wall next to the hand dryer. “Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

“One line, omm, one line, ommm,” Autumn joked.

The timer went off.

For a moment, everyone stood there, at a loss of what even to do. The test was ready... this was it. 

Slowly, Zoey finally stepped forward, and agonizingly slowly, reached towards the test. She couldn’t get her limbs to move any faster. Even though her fears had been mostly dissuaded, her heart still hammered in her chest so hard that she thought it might just fall out into the sink.

_One line. One line, one line, one line, please please let there just be one line. One line, please, God, just one. Have mercy on me for once. One line._

She picked it up and brought it into her line of vision.

Two lines.

“Shit,” Zoey blurted out.

________________________

_Betrayed By My Eggs Pie._

The crust would be cornmeal, cumin, chili powder, paprika, and salt, as well as the usual shit you throw into a crust. Cook it too long, so it crumbles, like Zoey’s feelings. Crack an egg, combine with sausage, soak it in beer, mix in cheesy red dressing. Maybe throw in that goddamn red dress while she was at it.

“You alright, honey?” Mo asked softly, freeing Zoey from the entanglement of her thoughts. Think too hard, it’d be like she took a piece of gum out of her mouth and started playing with it- soon she’d be wrapped up in strands of fake spearmint that she’d never get off.

“Shh. Thinking up a pie,” Zoey responded shortly. Maybe some extra shortening in the crust to trap in the moisture...

“Zoey. This isn’t something you can bake into a pie,” Mo reminded her firmly.

Zoey shook her head and looked at the test again.

Still two lines.

As soon as she’d confirmed that she wasn’t just seeing double from stress, she wrapped the test in paper towels, threw it in the trash under a mound of other paper towels, and scrubbed her hands hard enough to take off the skin. She half wished it would, so she could go to the hospital and forget about this for awhile.

“Pledge the sorority and take your blood oaths later! Get the hell back out here!” Eddy called, rapping on the door sharply.

Zoey didn’t hesitate, silently speed walking out the door, thankful that Eddy had stepped back and so she didn’t smack him in the face with the door as she rushed out.

“Don’t do your work, fine, I’ll dock your pay,” Eddy called after her. Zoey hurried into the kitchen, where she could hear Eddy continue at Mo in particular as Autumn went into the dining room.

“And you... you’re really pushing my buttons,” Eddy said to Mo. Zoey peered around the corner to see.

Mo laughed. “So which one’s mute?” He asked, walking off to the dining room before Eddy could respond.

“Oh, you..” Eddy trailed off and gave up, brushing past Zoey to get back to the grill. At least he was obviously relieved that he wouldn’t have to go out on a little blue dress and wait tables on his own... though, she’d probably pay good money to see him do that. Let her make the bacon, she’d have a great time with him waiting tables.

Zoey put all of her strength into kneading some dough, beating it senseless like it had done some horrible offense to her. It was just going to end up being a pretty little apple pie... it hadn’t done anything to her.

But she had to take her emotions out on _something._

So this was happening... she was having a baby.

Breaking her out of her mindless kneading (just as she was about to try and process the information, no less) was a voice cutting across the whole damn building, like a knife cutting off her escape and a needle and thread putting together her escape and what she was escaping from into a horrifying little sweater. Fuck... a baby in that horrid little sweater. Probably made of scratchy, ugly green yarn and flesh. 

“Waitress! What do you have to do to get a slice of pie around here?!” He barked, like a rabid dog who was always hungry and hated everyone. Some Rottweiler or bulldog or something.

He couldn’t even be nice for two goddamn seconds, even in public. Zoey peered around through the window to see _him_ there, Autumn stepping back and sputtering and rambling about the pies they had today, and Zoey had to let go of any part of her that held onto the notion that maybe she was just imagining things and _he_ wasn’t there.

_My Escape Became What I’m Escaping From Pie._

Throw in that scratchy olive green sweater of flesh and fear and anger, and whatever was left of her dress that hadn’t gone into the Betrayed By My Eggs pie. Lots and lots and lots of white chocolate, and condoms and abandoned fantasies and freedom long gone, long abandoned. And a knitting needle or two, because if he had his way, that’s what she’d be doing all day, sitting at home like everything was fine. Perfect little housewife.

The sweater was made, and her pie crust was ready to be put into the pie tin, ready to be chilled and then cooked to throw in the filling of the My Escape Became What I’m Escaping From Pie. But she’d have to let the dough rest, rather than let her husband tear the place apart. 

He didn’t want a slice of pie, he wanted a slice of _her._ Served up under some shiny cloche like in some fancy five star restaurant where your dinner cost five figures, too, with an abundance of obedience and submission poured on top like a sauce, with a side of giving up on everything she remotely liked so he’d be happy.

She took off her apron with a sigh and ran out into the dining room to him.

“Hi, honey,” Zoey said, hoping her sugary sweet tone didn’t reflect her fear and terror and frightenedness... and whatever other synonyms for quaking in her little white sneakers. Also how gritted her teeth were, so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if they snapped in half.

Fuck her husband, fuck his showing up unannounced... except not literally. Except she already did and now she was having his baby.

Whatever... this was gonna be a fun little time with the person who made her scared for her life. Because when was it not fun with him?

“What can I get you, dear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are always appreciated 🥺🥺🥺🥺


	3. what baking can(‘t) do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey’s husband shows up to the diner, to the delight of nobody, and Zoey deals with the fact that there’s kinda a fetus to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok im gonna preface this by saying, yes, max is earl in this, and he is out of character, but... i think that it isn’t completely out of the question for max. i do like him but he’s got some working on him as a person to do... and i really hate fanon max. i hope that this max is like a worst case scenario of what he Could Be given the correct environment and circumstances but is in no way an accurate portrayal of the character as of this moment. he’s the best character to be earl and that’s how it’s gonna be. enjoy

“Well hello, butterball, you’re looking mighty cute this morning,” Zoey’s husband said, stroking his brown beard. Tiny, tiny flecks of sawdust were visible among his facial hair.

He was an _almost_ good musician... and that _almost_ haunted him. He used to have dreams and ambition and drive, and then he figured out that he wasn’t cut out, and they stayed right here.

You could draw a map of Zoey’s life, thus far. Eight minutes away (if the starting point was the diner) was her childhood home, her father still drunk himself silly all day every day. Five minutes away in the other direction was the hospital where she’d been born, Shelly Creek Regional Hospital. Ten minutes down Highway 11 was her crusty 1970s home where she lived with her husband, and then right back here, eight minutes from home, was this diner. She’d never been further out of here than East County, two counties from here. 

Zoey hated how small the circle of her life was. She could’ve gotten out, but instead she stayed right in. With _him._

“What’re you doing here, honey?” She asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“That goddamn foreman was giving me an earful about how I was ‘late’ or something,” He accompanied the word ‘late’ with finger air quotes; “I told him, don’t blame the 9am line at Taco Bell on me! So I left his ass... good luck with him today.”

“You didn’t quit, did you?” Zoey asked, suddenly very, _very_ worried. He had a knack for loosing jobs because... well... he hated everyone. Bitter over not being good enough, she guessed.

“Ah, hell no. I’ll be back in the morning. Just wanted to teach him a lesson.”

“Honey, that’s not a good way to keep a job-“

“Not your place to tell me what to do, now is it, sugar?” He asked, voice suddenly cold and frightening.

She shook her head quickly. “Course not. Sorry, Max.”

“Where’s my kiss, darling? All this nagging and no reward for this tired, handsome man?”

Zoey hesitated... but gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He grabbed her head before she could pull away and pretty much dragged her to his lips, giving her a kiss on the lips before letting her go. Zoey stepped back slightly, wiping the spit off her mouth.

“Max, I gotta get back to-“

“It can wait. How are we doing today?”

Zoey slowly reached into her apron pocket and produced the roll of cash she’d received in tips, and a few scattered change. He went through it slowly, counting the numbers in his head.

“Not bad... not good, either,” he said, pocketing it. Zoey cringed internally. Oh, how she longed to hold onto that money-

“Listen, Zo. I was thinking... maybe you shouldn’t be working here anymore. You can make pies for me all day... and besides, I don’t like the people you work with.”

Zoey glanced over her shoulder and saw Mo collecting menus from table 5- and giving Max the evil eye.

“I mean, that one looks like I killed her dog or some shit,” Max complained. “I just don’t think this is a great place for you when you could stay home all day.”

“Max, I couldn’t possibly... we need the money,” Zoey protested weakly, her fear growing. If she quit, she’d have to be in the prison she’d built for herself all day, every day. And besides, he bounced around jobs like a monopoly board, because he could never keep one for very long. He’d been at his current job for four weeks, and Zoey feared the clock was ticking every day on that. She was the only one with a steady income, bad as it was, and if they were both unemployed... well, life was bad enough even with a roof over her head and running water.

Autumn walked over briskly, setting down the last of the blueberry bacon pie. They’d gone through almost all of it during the breakfast lunch, and that’d been the last slice from the last pie.

Max didn’t thank her as she scurried away, and he stabbed a fork into the pie, taking a huge bite.

“Damn, this pie is good,” he said with a full mouth.

“That’s the last of it... it went quick this morning. Sold so fast I couldn’t believe it.”

Max looked _jealous._ And when Max was jealous... all bets were off.

He couldn’t stand the fact that she was more successful than him.

“Yeah, well, don’t be getting a big head or anything. You sure aren’t Paula Deen,” he said coldly, taking another bite.

“Maybe I’m not Paula Deen... but you used to say my pies were so good, I could open my own shop,” Zoey said quietly. Seeking some form of affection she knew she wouldn’t get.

“Yeah, well, I was just trying to get to you. Seems like it worked pretty good.”

Zoey had been crushed a million times, but comments like that... it was like the first time all over again. And it fucking _hurt._ Stung like an angry wasp in July... or like she’d put her entire hand on the burner in the kitchen and left it there until she was tearing up and tore it away.

It’d been the middle of October, and it was starting to get cold as shit, and Zoey was feeling equally cold- Max was cold to her because tips were way down, because not as many people came to the diner between the week of Indigenous People’s Day and the week of Halloween, and Zoey just couldn’t seem to _feel_ anything. 

He was out drinking, she was alone in the kitchen, numbly going through the motions of making her mom’s Lonely Chicago Pie, when she snapped, twisting the front burner on the stove to the on position on the highest setting, and went back to assembling her ingredients until it was hot enough for her to slap her hand down on it with a sob.

She’d had lines running across her hand and she’d had to go to the hospital and spend good money because she couldn’t get it to stop hurting even after she’d taken it off the burner.

And Max had yelled at her and she’d gotten a good slap to the face with his (functional) hand, and it hadn’t solved anything.

Zoey was still cold and empty inside even while her hand was on the burner.

She hadn’t done that again.

_My Husband’s A Jerk Pie_

Pound chicken until it’s unrecognizable. In Zoey’s head, she imagined a meat tenderizer, and taking it to his head, while some nameless person handed her a suitcase and a coat. Use only essential ingredients, simmer without a lid, allowing the vapor to escape quickly from the mixture. Maybe she could escape like the mixture.

“Am I imagining it, Zoey, or are your boobs getting bigger? Seems like they grew a size overnight.”

Zoey froze. Was she going to tell him? 

How about... no. Because he could trap her further with this information, and... she wasn’t sure what she was going to do yet. 

“That’s impossible, Max,” she said gently.

“Maybe you’re just eating too much pie. I’m out of here,” Max declared, throwing his fork onto his now empty plate and standing up. 

“Have a good day, honey,” Zoey felt obligated to say.

“Peace,” Max said, pretending he was cool as he walked out.

The second he was gone, Zoey relaxed a _lot_ , and silently picked up Max’s plate, hands shaking a bit from coming down off the adrenaline high. 

She carried the plate into the kitchen and stood at the sink for a moment, holding the edge of it and staring into it’s industrial depths.

“You okay, Zoetrope?” Mo asked quietly- still startling the shit out of Zoey, who hadn’t known that he was there.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Zoey responded, turning on the water to dab some on her face. Once she turned it back off, she turned around to head back out into the dining room.

“Zoey...” Mo took a deep breath. “Life’s a shitshow. I mean, these are fake ass boobs, but the left one is drooping so low, it might as well be in Australia. I’m married to Drooling Phyllis The Invalid, and buying Depends in bulk. And Autumn’s never had a boyfriend, she eats TV Dinners alone at night.”

Autumn walked in to join The Pep Talk By The Sink party, supplying helpfully, “Cheeseburger Mac on Monday, Meatloaf and collard greens on Tuesday-“

“-But we still wouldn’t rather be you,” Mo cut her off. Autumn nodded in agreement.

“No, we sure wouldn’t,” Zoey said quietly, going over to her pie making corner. They were running low on Apple Like Your Mama Made It Pie, she needed to make more. And maybe this uncomfortable conversation would end.

“Everybody’s got something they’re dealing with. I’m going to be fine, don’t worry about me.”

“Yeah, some father Max is gonna be,” Autumn said.

Zoey took out her ball of dough, ripped off a chunk, and began kneading it. She hated to imagine it... the mental image made her want to curl up in a hole and die. Max wouldn’t... he’d be a terrible father. 

“Don’t hold yourself to vows and promises you made when you were too young to know any better,” Mo added. 

“He’s not always like this... he’s just going through a rough time,” Zoey said, defensive. She didn’t want them meddling in her business... especially when nobody could get her out of here, anyway.

“Yeah, what’s the shelf life on that excuse, Zoey?” Mo asked.

It got very quiet in that corner of the kitchen.

“I couldn’t afford to leave him, not now,” Zoey said quietly.

“Like I said, you could move in with me. I have a full size twin,” Autumn reminded her.

“I’ve got a baby coming, I couldn’t do that to you,” Zoey said.

“Zoloft, dust the flour out of your brain. Do the baby a favor and leave his sorry ass, you hear me?” Mo said.

“He’d never let me.”

“It’s not up to him,” Autumn said firmly.

“Zo... seriously... I’m here. To help, whenever you need me to. Need to get out of here? My little old pickup’s not in great shape, but it’ll get you as far as you want to go.”

“That means a lot, Mo, but I’m fine,” Zoey said.

“When are you gonna admit that it’s not okay?”

Zoey turned around to look him in the eye, show him the tired look behind her own eyes.

“I’ve got fourteen pies to bake, and they aren’t gonna bake themselves.”

_________________________

Zoey hid herself in the spice rack until Mo and Autumn gave up and went back to work, and then returned to her pie making corner to get some shells in the oven.

But then... oh, no. Not today. Of all days-

Her little power was doing a 180 and hitting her upside the head. Making _her_ sing, rather than hear other people sing.

Hopefully it was one where she sung in her own head, and if not... hopefully it wasn’t too loud. Because she couldn’t control it for shit. 

_Make it work_

_Make it easy_

_Make it clever, craft it into pieces._

Zoey kneaded her dough all the while, grateful that the song didn’t seem to have too much choreography to interfere with this. Her feet stayed planted in the ground, and she sprinkled flour into the dough and folded it in.

_Make it sweet_

_Crimp the edges_

_We'll make it sour and serve with lemon wedges._

She said _we’ll_... either she was talking to herself... or that baby inside her.

Zoey wasn’t gonna be some happy go lucky mama who was overjoyed at the fact that she was having a baby... but apparently she had to acknowledge that it existed, and it was gonna tear it’s way out of her, come hell or high water.

_Even doubt_

_Can be delicious_

_And it washes off of all the dirty dishes_

_When it's done_

_I can smile_

_It's on someone else's plate for a while._

Mm. Clearly this song was about her habit of burying her emotions into cute little pies. She could live with this... it sure wasn’t some internal truth she had a habit of denying.

She thought of more cheerful pies... Everything’s Peachy Keen Pie... When There’s A Whisk There’s A Way...

_I'll place it on display_

_And then I'll slice and serve my worries away_

_I can fix this_

_I can twist it into sugar, butter covered pieces_

_Never mind what's underneath it_

_I have done it before_

She remembered the Satan’s Belly Pie. The name hadn’t gone over great with the same people who didn’t like to call deviled eggs... well, deviled eggs. But it had been the pie of the day the day she came in with her hand all wrapped up in bandages, and it’d been a roaring success. They’d all been lopsided because she only had one hand to work with, but they’d been roasted chilis, cinnamon, strips of prosciutto and bacon fried in hot sauce, Szechwan pepper, ginger, and curry, all in a spicy cinnamon crust. Burned your mouth off, but for some reason, everyone loved it.

And Zoey told everyone she’d burned her hand on accident.

_I'll bake me a door to help me get through_

_I learned that from you_

_Mama, it's amazing what baking can do_

Her mother... the most beautiful person who’d ever lived. She was a redhead like Zoey, always neat, never messy. When she whisked something, it was like pure gold. Anything she touched, especially food, was automatically amazing, delicious, perfect. She never made a bad plate of food.

She lived vicariously through her pies, her mother. Zoey had gotten the inspiration for her cute pie names from her mom, who made pies such as Parisian Afternoon Pie (Chocolate mousse, peaches shredded on a cheese grater, heaps of powdered sugar, all in a flaky, croissant-like crust) and Rome Beauty Pie (Rome beauty apples, blueberries, raspberries, and an unbaked crust, so everything melted together in the finished product. Then she flipped the pie over, sprinkled it in powdered sugar, and put little berries on top, served it just like that, filling side down.) 

Her mother, she also could draw a circle around this town to document her entire life. Born at Shelby Creek, lived two miles down the road as a baby, got married in the church, lived in that house five minutes from the church for the rest of her life, worked at the grocery store, and then died at the same hospital. She could make as many Parisian Afternoons or Rome Beauties but she had never gone to either.

_Make it up_

_And surprise them_

_Tell them all my secrets but disguise them_

_So they dance on the tongues_

_Of the very people that they're secrets from_

Maybe some of that My Husband’s A Jerk Pie for Max, or what had actually happened, that Satan’s Belly pie on his tongue. He’d declared it terrible, entirely too spicy, and demanded she bring home some apple pie, just for him, to make up for it.

_Make it soon_

_Make it better_

_Though, better never lasts forever_

_I'll make it small so it fits_

_Even this_

_Even now_

Zoey hadn’t realized it up until now, but she’d cooked entire pie shells, a bunch of them, in mini pie tins, and now she was filling them up with some citrusy shit as she sung. Probably some I’m Having A Baby And I’m Not Thrilled Pie.

_Even as the walls come tumbling down_

_Even as I can't stop remembering how_

_Every door we ever made, we never once walked out_

There had been a time when her mother had hidden cash under the sink in the kitchen, hidden in an empty bottle of cleaner. Her mother had told her it was there and that she was never to tell her father... but they never used that money.

 _Something I never got the chance to ask her about_ , she sung, possibly to answer her own thoughts.

_So with flour on my hands_

_I'll show them all how_

_Goddamn happy I am_

Those little pies began to go into the oven, one by one, Zoey moving not of free will, but fine with this. All the blueberry bacon was gone, this could be the new pie of the day, she guessed. She could hold it over for tomorrow, but she hated refrigerating pies.

And what the song was telling her was that going to show everyone that she was just fine... nothing was the matter. She wouldn’t let anyone look at what was inside and realize how much she was hurting. She was going to pave her own way with-

_Sugar, butter, flour_

_Don't let me down_

_Let's see the next amazing thing baking does now._

The song ended with a loud _clap_ as Zoey slammed the oven shut on all of those pies. 

She stood there for a moment, gathering her thoughts, before looking around wildly to see if anyone had seen. To her relief, nobody was even looking at her.

She walked back out into the dining room to greet some people who’d just sat down and take their drink orders, and luckily, nobody batted an eye at her. Nobody had heard.

Zoey could keep it all to herself, then. Not let anyone know her feelings. Because god forbid she sing them out loud, because the last thing she wanted was help. Or sympathy. Or... she didn’t know.

She was gonna keep this all to herself, and if anyone wanted to know what was inside... well, it was sugar, butter, and flour. Nobody would understand the emotions poured into it, the weight and flavor they gave a pie.

Zoey didn’t need anyone’s help.


	4. club knocked down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey visits the gynecologist, and, unfortunately, that means seeing this _new_ gyno.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs in this chapter:
> 
> \- club knocked up  
> \- the showdown (britney spears)
> 
> i know, shocking! dev includes a not waitress song! >:0!
> 
> now this is off the normal kinda sorta four days between chapters but that’s because i came to terms with the fact that this fic is going to break 100k so.... enjoy cause we’ve got a lot more coming

Visiting the gynecologist was nothing short of terrifying.

All those happy go lucky ladies, bloated with their husband’s baby, all smiles, hair curled and makeup perfect.

And of course, they sang a little song, like freakish, pregnant Andrews Sisters.

 _Knock knock,_ sang the first one, a little brunette lady who was either about to burst or pregnant with twins... which was too many. Zoey shuddered at the thought. 

_Knock knock_ , sang the other two, one lady with a blonde Karen haircut in sweatpants and a minions t-shirt, and the other, a black lady with neat curly hair to her shoulders, dressed in a maroon pencil skirt and a matching blazer.

 _Who's there?_ little brunette sung.

 _Who's there?_ chorused Karen and Busy Busy Businesswoman.

_Knocked up_

_Knocked up who?_

_You there!_ sung Average Brunette Woman, pointing at Zoey and smiling... a little too wide. Zoey stumbled back, hitting the wall behind her.

Jesus Christ.

 _Join us!_ the three chorused, their too-wide smiles and their too big-bellies continuing to make Zoey... quite uncomfortable.

“Mrs. Richman, the doctor will see you now,” called a nurse in purple scrubs with little flowers on them. Zoey scrambled to follow her... but so did the pregnant ladies

 _Welcome to club knocked up!_ they sang excitedly. Zoey broke out into a full out run until she was cornered, just as quickly, by the the three, as they continued their little ditty.

_Knock knock_

_Who's there_

_Precious_

_Precious who?_

_Precious little parasite who set it’s sights on you_

_Dream come true_

_Welcome to club knocked up_

_Welcome to club knocked up!_

And then, finally, they disappeared, and the nurse, an older black lady who walked hunched over, was looking at her oddly.

“Mrs. _Richman_ ,” she sighed, “The ghosts of this doctor’s office are not chasing you.”

“Right..” Zoey said quietly, feeling her cheeks heating up. “Right.”

She slowly removed herself from the corner and followed the nurse to the room.

The nurse, who introduced herself as Norma, did the regular doctor stuff, like weigh her, ask her questions, prick her finger and take some blood, normal stuff. She tried to make idle chit chat along the way about Zoey and how she was doing, which Zoey responded to with with one word answers. 

Needless to say, the conversation didn’t last long.

Finally, she finished up whatever the heck she was doing (Zoey was, admittedly, spaced out, gripping a pie tin so hard her knuckles were turning white), and told her that the doctor would see her soon and shuffled out.

Her doctor was Doctor Lily Perkins, and she’d been her doctor her entire life. Hell, Doctor Perkins had delivered her, and Zoey trusted nobody else with her care. She was a sweet and funny old lady and Zoey, who trusted very few people in this godforsaken world, really did trust her.

And Dr. Perkins’ favorite pie was Mermaid Marshmallow, which Zoey had whipped up just for her this morning and brought over here. To compensate for the fact that she was having to go see Dr. Perkins at all, especially like this, when there were certainly far more important patients to see. Like Average Brunette, Karen, and Busy Busy Businesswoman.

But the person who opened the door with a smile was _not_ Dr. Perkins.

It was a man in his early thirties, nice and tall and lean and lanky. He had pale skin, that weak skin one would usually see on a ginger, but he had sandy blonde hair in an almost 50s style swoop, sparkling blue eyes, and a bit of stubble. Not like Max’s, where it was scratchy and hurt... he looked like he at least took care of it.

He was in a doctor’s coat and those weird blue scrubs that doctors wear, and he was holding his clipboard and looking... well... doctor-y.

He looked respectable and kind... but he wasn’t her doctor.

“Hello, Mrs. Richman, I’m Doctor Donnelly, and you brought a pie? I’ve only been here a few weeks, the hospitality in this town is-“ 

“Call me Zoey... also... you’re not Dr. Perkins,” Zoey said, cutting him and his northern accent off. “This pie is for Dr. Perkins... it’s mermaid marshmallow, her favorite,” Zoey said, a little bit quietly, like she was ashamed, suddenly, of being southern, having a pie, and, apparently, a male gynecologist.

She was surprised every time Max seemed to find the right hole.

“Well, Zoey... Dr. Perkins is semi-retired, sooo...” he fidgeted a bit with the ends of his doctor’s coat; “She’s not seeing any patients at the moment, you see.”

“What?” Dr. Perkins made Zoey feel safe... Dr. Donnelly looked nice and all, sure, but that was because she’d married Max Richman, and a nice looking man in this town was a sight for sore eyes.

“Long story, but TL;DR, I’m the new doctor around here. I’m from San Fransisco, just moved here two weeks ago.”

So not only was she pregnant, she’d missed one of her favorite (living) people by two weeks. Zoey could have at least gotten a lollipop and a hand up the vajayjay, a mermaid marshmallow pie as repayment, before she scooted off to... Bermuda or wherever. Wherever southern gynecologists retire to.

“Right... gotcha. Sure,” Zoey said, catching herself. No matter how many objects he was gonna stuff up the baby chute, she wasn’t going to let on how upset she was. Dr. Perkins was just a doctor... but she felt safe with her. She wouldn’t go blabbing about her bruises, for sure.

“If you’re not comfortable with having me as your gynecologist, I’m not going to bite you over it. That’s your choice, I won’t be offended.”

“I just... Dr. Perkins has been my doctor for forever and then some. Hell, she delivered me. I really like and trust her.”

“Well... maybe you can like and trust me too,” Dr. Donnelly said with a small smile.

Zoey didn’t return it... and the following silence was unnerving.

Finally, he took a deep breath and opened his mouth again. He really did have a nice bit of stubble, it really was well kempt and nice. Maybe she was just used to Jerky Husband Beards, but...

“You okay with me as your doctor?”

Zoey took a deep breath as well. “Sure, I guess.”

“Well, good! Great. I’m your doctor now,” he said, and he held out his hand, which Zoey slowly shook, keeping one hand on the pie tin.

“So, anyway... what seems to be the problem?” Dr. Donnelly asked.

“Well, I seem to be pregnant,” Zoey deadpanned.

“Oh, great! Congratulations.”

“Oh, there ain’t gonna be no congratulations and salutations about this. I don’t want this baby,” Zoey said matter-of-factly.

“Oh... oh no. Well, I can refer you to someone who can perform an abor-“

“Nope,” Zoey cut him off. “I don’t want that... not that I judge people that do. I’m having this baby... the end. Whoop dee doo, I’m just not gonna be all happy and excited about this.”

“I’m not here to judge you, I’m here to be your doctor, sooo...”

Just as he was starting to fidget with his coat again, Nurse Norma shuffled in.

“And here are Mrs. Richman’s blood results... still no ghosts in this place, ma’am,” she said.

Dr. Donnelly took the clipboard from Nurse Norma and plopped it on top of his current one. “Well... un-congratulations. You’re definitely having a baby.”

“That clears that up, at least. Un-thank you.”

“Alright, do you have any, ah, concerns, questions, about this? Dos and don’ts, I can give you... exercise and sex and the stuff.”

“I don’t do much of either.”

“Alright then... I’m gonna give you a prescription of pre-natal vitamins, and Nurse Norma will give you a list of good and bad foods, and then I’d like to see you back here in about three weeks, that sound good?”

“Actually,” Zoey said. “I do have a question.”

“I’m listening.”

“Just... how pregnant am I?”

“Well... there’s only one degree of pregnancy... so I’d say... fetus.”

“No!” Zoey said, frustrated. “How like... how far along am I?”

“Oh!” Dr. Donnelly exclaimed. Zoey mentally rolled her eyes. “About eight weeks, give or take.”

“Oh, good, means I’ve got time.”

“Time... to..?”

“Time before people notice and start bugging me about it,” Zoey said.

“Ohh... gotcha. I mean, it’s really quite beautiful when a woman’s body-“

“You can stop now,” Zoey said with a sarcastic smile... mostly to sate the awkwardness that would follow.

And yeah... awkward silence followed, and Zoey clutched the pie tin a little bit harder. An idea came into her head- actually, not an idea, just a smart thought. Because if Dr. Perkins wasn’t going to have the pie... well, someone should have it.

“I’m gonna give you this pie,” Zoey declared, handing Dr. Donnelly the pie.

“Oh, well... okay. I mean, I’m off sugar, actually, so... it does, however, look absolutely delicious.” He held the pie awkwardly, almost like it might hurt him.

“My mama used to say, you can live to a hundred, only if you give up the things that make you want to live to a hundred.”

“Sugar causes leptin resistance, chromium deficiency, and decreased longevity... I’m sure it’s actually delicious, but.”

“Life’s hard enough, good grief,” Zoey said with a soft sigh.

__________________________

It was another morning on another day, and Zoey rushed into work, breathless, at a far, far later hour than she usually came in, still before opening, but she didn’t have a very large amount of time to make the day’s pies before they opened up, she’d have to be making pies between tables that morning.

“You’re late,” Eddy said, not even looking up as Zoey rushed to put on my apron.

“I’m sorry, the bus driver was halfway asleep,” she said quietly, tying the apron strings quickly. It was drizzly and gross and grey outside, and her hair was damp and stuck to her neck, so she was just gonna have to be uncomfortable.

“Damn, why doesn’t your husband get you a car already?” Eddy asked, still not looking up.

“Cause he doesn’t want me going nowhere,” Zoey said, getting out of the refrigerator all the pie shells she’d made last night after close. Today’s pie, she decided, was Drizzly Day Disarray, which might’ve been halfway an excuse to just use a smorgasbord of ingredients (while chocolate, apricots, peaches, Granny Smith apples), but she was adding plenty of her emotions to the batter, and that always made it turn out well.

Just then, Mo sauntered in, wearing sunglasses for some inexplicable reason (it was still drizzly and grey outside, it wasn’t just Zoey’s soul), obviously trying to come in unnoticed.

“Mo! You’re late too... _again._ You’re inches away from being fired, sir,” Eddy barked.

Mo took off his sunglasses dramatically and stared him down. “So fire me.”

“I will, then,” Eddy said determinedly.

“Then do!”

As the two stared each other down, music began to play in the background... because Zoey could never go too long without hearing music.

They didn’t start with like... the beginning of the song. It was a song that Zoey actually knew, and they started at the second chorus, for some reason-

 _Here comes the showdown,_ Mo sang.

 _What goes around comes around,_ Eddy added, staring Mo down and holding his ground.

 _And the crowds are waiting, oh_ they both sang, digging their heels into the ground. Mo dusted off his shoulder, and Eddy grabbed his hand and threw it back as they sang.

_’Cause if we break up_

_Then we can make up,_ Eddy sang, looking Mo into the eye in an almost... sexual way.

 _Shake my booty all night,_ Mo sang with a cat’s smirking smile, as he traced Eddy’s chin with the same hand he threw back. Eddy grabbed the hand again, but held it with his until Mo broke them away this time. Oh... Zoey didn’t know if she needed to watch this... but she couldn’t take her eyes away.

 _Here comes the showdown, oh,_ they both sang, continuing to stare each other down.

_Forget the tension_

_When we fight_

_You make it up._ Those three lines, they sang together, and Eddy took the next line as they grabbed hands again and started to... tango?

 _Turn down the light_ Eddy sang seductively.

 _It's just a lover's game we play, yeah_ Mo sang teasingly, grabbing Eddy’s shoulder and throwing him into a spin away from him. Eddy caught himself on the flat top and spun back around to face him.

_After the screaming's at an end_

_Why don't we all do it again_

_That's when the fun really begins_

_Oh, whoa._ they sang together.

The song ended with Mo and Eddy getting dangerously close to each other, dangerous as in it almost looked like they were going to kiss, and then they both twisted away at the last second and resumed their previous positions before the song had begun.

Zoey couldn’t help but snicker a little as Eddy backed down from firing Mo, sighing and shaking his head as he walked away, throwing the dish towel over his shoulder and returning to work.

“What’s so funny? Oh, god, is my left boob-“

“No...” Zoey giggled a bit, and lowered her voice. “You and Eddy just sang a song.”

Mo’s eyes averted from Zoey, and they probably would’ve went pale had they been white.

“You’re making shit up,” Mo said, obviously trying to hide something.

“Ooh! What song was it, Zoey?” Autumn asked, walking by with armfuls of ketchup and mustard bottles.

“We’re not talking about this. Let’s talk about something else. Like, now. How was the doc, Zoey?”

“Oh... it was fine. He was nice enough.”

“He? Whatever happened to Dr. Perkins?” Autumn asked.

“Retired, apparently. It’s a shame. The new doctor’s from San Francisco, he’s... nice enough. Little nervous.”

“Ooh. Is he young? Single? Perhaps he’d be good for Dawn The Wallflower,” Mo said conspiratorially.

“No, I think he had a ring on his finger.”

“Also, San Francisco? The hell is he doing here?” Autumn asked.

“Don’t know, don’t quite care,” Zoey said, moving to go back to her pies.

“Hey, wait. Park the struggle bus for a sec, Zo, we got you something,” Mo said, grabbing her arm. 

“Oh, yeah! We’d better give it to you now, rather than later when you’re running off home,” Autumn said, setting down the remaining ketchup and mustard bottles and following along as Mo took them into the spice cabinet, dragging Zoey along with them.

Autumn reached behind one of the racks and pulled out a little white on pink polka dotted gift bag with blue and purple tissue poking out the top, and handed it to Zoey.

“Oh, thanks, y’all, you shouldn’t have,” Zoey said, peering at the bag, as if it would grow a mouth and tell her what was inside it, hesitant to open it. She felt a little bit guilty that they’d spent money on her.

“Open it, open it!” Autumn said, practically bouncing from obvious excitement.

Slowly, Zoey reached through the tissue paper like she thought it might bite her, and pulled out a small, hard, flat object.

A book. Pink cover with a cute blonde, blue eyed baby staring at her with a baby smile. In big, bold green print at the top was _What A Mama You’re Gonna Bs!_

“Oh, Jesus Christ... y’all didn’t have to, seriously,” Zoey said, trying to mask the fact that it made her... incredibly uncomfortable.

She was going to be a mama, sure... but she wasn’t gonna go full ham on it. Zoey had accepted that, come to terms with that... she didn’t need some baby book to tell her how to be.

“I did research on all the best baby books, and I found this on Amazon, and Mo and I bought it... and, yeah!” Autumn opened up the book and flipped to a page. “This one was so cute, because, like, look, there’s a place to write a letter to your baby. See?”

She pointed to a bit of cursive script in baby pink at the top left corner, reading ‘Dear Baby....’ and then the rest of the page and the page next to it had little grey lines, and Zoey just wanted to know... how was she supposed to write on glossy paper (the ink didn’t stick right and she was a perfectionist; a shopping list took at least three messy drafts with scribbled notes on every item), and also, why the four periods after Baby? Did it have some superstitious meaning, like, to protect against infertility or whatever the heck?

“Oh, that is adorable,” Zoey said, fake smiling and trying to inject some excitement into her tone, at which she failed semi-miserably.

“We know you’re not really the most hyped about this, but... it really is a beautiful thing, Zoey. Sure, it’s Max’s baby, but... it’s also yours.”

“And I’m sure she’ll come out looking cute as a button, with red hair like her mama,” Autumn said dreamily.

“I don’t know if it’s a girl... could be some intergalactic invader choosing a random girl in Georgia to begin world conquest with.”

“So I’m taking that as, you’re not going to be any more affectionate towards this baby right now?” Mo asked.

“Not everyone wants to be a mother, it doesn’t make me a bad person,” Zoey said tiredly. “And who isn’t a little skeptical that it might be an intergalactic... werewolf or some shit.”

“So are y’all having some Sit On Your Ass And Chit Chat Pie?” Eddy asked, clearly annoyed as he popped his head into the spice cabinet. “Are y’all doing blood oaths yet?”

“Nah, we don’t need blood till tomorrow’s pie,” Mo joked. “Keep them coming, sourpuss.”

“Let’s get a move on, we’re opening up!” Eddy said, walking away back towards the kitchen.

Zoey slid the book between the industrial sized cinnamon barrel and the other industrial sized cinnamon barrel, and went back out to continue her morning chores.

Pies went out onto racks, the dining room was filling up, the same song and dance as normal. 

During a lull while Zoey was in her little corner making pies again, in a spot where she could easily be cornered, Mo came up to her.

“Have you told Max yet?” He asked.

“Good morning to you, too,” Zoey huffed, voice absolutely dripping in sarcasm, like she’d thrown a bucket of water from the industrial sinks onto her tongue and spat it all out as she spoke.

“Listen, Zoey... I just...” Mo trailed off, and rested his hands on the counter, deep in thought.

“You just what?” Zoey asked, hardly taking her eyes off the pie.

“I want you to be happy, Zoey, not happy enough. Come on, I mean... you... you deserve better than this. We both know that.”

“Just because maybe I deserve better, doesn’t mean I’ll get it.”

She poured raspberries, blueberries, blackberries into the pie shell, and began to mash them up slowly. 

She was gonna put her troubles into this little pie, so maybe Mo and Autumn would quit bothering her and expecting her to... get happy. Get a move on, get gone.

Zoey was staying right here with her pies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes this reuses a lot of dialogue from the show but... bdbshsjsjsb i love the show and i love zoey and leif


	5. old (joan) (charlie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey deals with the owner of the diner, Joan, and her husband, Charlie, and a small crisis. A crisis _besides_ the fact that the Bennetts came for lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this is where we take a few swings away from the waitress plot and develop some :0 subplots... I KNOW, DEV NOT STICKING TO THE LINEAR STRICTNESS?? SHOCKING! /s

Sticking right there with her pies proved to be... difficult.

Zoey was throwing up almost constantly, it seemed, almost every other table, she had to excuse herself in the middle of taking drink orders and go throw up... she had several close calls while holding heavy trays loaded up with hot food and white china plates.

And just to drive in further that oh, by the way, she was fucking pregnant, her boobs _hurt._ Like, hurt like she had slammed them into an anvil a couple hundred times, mashed and smashed into a million pieces, and then stitched back together with the lining of a pig’s stomach and a dirty needle with tetanus, with no anesthesia.

Speaking of which...

_My Boobs Hurt Pie._

The crust was simple, the usual, but had pork rinds baked in. The filling was pulled pork, which was about how her boobs felt- maybe she could boil something really gross, like turkey giblets, throw those in, pull them apart like the pulled pork, a lot of garlic... _so_ much garlic. And pickles, because she really wanted pickles right about now, diced up... maybe even add tuna. And before it even went into the pie crust, it would all have been marinated in coffee, because that was on the list of foods she wasn’t supposed to eat. For spices, a fair amount of coriander, some cumin and paprika, really whatever was in the spice cabinet- ooh, cinnamon- a heaping of salt, stir that fucker up, cooked for twenty minutes.

Zoey went so far as to write that down in her book of pie recipes, a worn book that Mo had gotten her from Target when she went into the nearest big town, with _Keep Dreaming!_ in sparkle print across the front, and a unicorn leaping over a big blue moon, with a purple and pink starry sky. It had been a joke, but Zoey did put it to use. 

But, it was only when she put it down in her book, on the next page from the I Don’t Want Max’s Baby Pie she’d dreamed up the other day, that she realized how nonsensical and dumb it was. Tuna, pulled pork, and turkey giblets, marinated in coffee? In a _pie?_ God, she was a character in her own right.

She didn’t erase it from the book- mostly because she had no energy and she’d written it using one of Autumn’s feather tipped pink pens with rainbow ink, but she wrote a note in the margins.

_Written while pregnant. Proceed with caution._

With that, she snapped the book shut and slid it up between the coriander and the paprika on the spice rack, just one shelf above the baby book Mo and Autumn had gotten her.

Normally, she lavished presents- she used the shit out of the unicorn notebook that Mo had gotten her, whenever Autumn went up to Georgia to see her sister and aunts she always brought something from Lush back with her, and Zoey lavished every single bathbomb and candle, making a whole experience out of it on days when Max was out drinking with the boys, making sure to drain the tub and slip into bed before he got home, and if he tried to initiate sex, she would stay motionless, not even allowing herself to breathe until he left her alone, collapsing next to her with a heavy sigh, smelling of beer.

This baby book... this baby book was trying to initiate sex with her. And she was going to leave it on the spice rack until it collapsed with a sigh, maybe she could conveniently screw up a pie filling, her tequila cherry pie filling, and oh no, she was just going to the spice rack to see if some powdered and brown sugar could fix her troubles, and oh, no, the book just fell in.

Maybe she could do that with Max, oh, woops, her hand had slipped and now he was drowning in Tequila Cherry Pie. Rest In Peace?

God, if she wasn’t so tired and stupid, maybe she would have ended up a serial killer, rather than a pie maker at Joan’s Diner. Joan’s mother _fucking_ Diner... Joan Bennett, with her horrible husband Charlie, who would sit together and bicker, and Charlie would never tip, saying he had more important things to do than tip a dumb waitress at the diner he’d let Joan buy so that she would leave him alone to his _business._

And of course, because Zoey Richman was a very lucky girl, she just _had_ to hear the bell on the door ring, and peeking her head out from her spot in the spice cabinet, she saw Eddy stiffen, and she saw Autumn stand up a little straighter and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear nervously.

The Bennetts were here.

“Zoey, they’re sitting at your table... honey, I can’t do it,” Mo said, coming back from the dining room with an empty tray and some menus. “I know you did it last time, and I know you’re pregnant, but I cannot do it... please, Zoey, I’m begging you.”

“Mo, it is my table, I don’t even know why you’re asking,” Zoey said in a resigned tone, grabbing her apron from the hook and tying it on. Mo handed her two menus from the shelf and an appreciative but also pitying small smile.

“You are so getting it the next two times the Bennetts come in,” Zoey said. 

“Hey, the Bennetts like you, Zoey, so shut up and be the one waitress they like.”

Zoey sighed, giving Mo a forced smile, and strode out onto the floor.

The Bennetts were sitting at a cozy little booth that was across from the counter, facing the opposite way with the booth wall pointing them towards the huge windows pouring in a shit ton of light and not much else... there wasn’t much to see out there but the highway and a few power lines.

And they, of course, were already bickering.

Charlie was talking into the Bluetooth in his ear, or at least pretending to, and Joan was talking very loudly about how they’d come to the diner so that they could talk over lunch.

“Yeah, and the Mrs. Bennett thinks that I can just stop being busy for one moment of my life. She knows that I have a meeting in Atlanta today.” Ah, passive aggressiveness! Zoey loved that in a couple. Truly showed signs of a happy relationship.

“You always have a meeting in Atlanta, or Savannah, or you have to drive up to Nashville or Memphis or over to Birmingham or down to Miami or Orlando, or, oh no! You have to fly into New York, or LA, or-“

“Yes, Charles, my wife is talking very loudly, could you repeat that?” Charlie nodded along to the response... even if Zoey was pretty sure it didn’t exist, seeing as his Bluetooth was _off._

“Hi, welcome to Joan’s, your Bluetooth is off, Mr. Bennett,” Zoey interrupted, unable to help herself. There was no way his Bluetooth was on and also didn’t have a flashing light of any kind on, and even if she probably caused another argument or dug her own grave, the look on Charlie’s face was _priceless._

“Oh, it is?!” Joan was like some sort of snake, rearing up for attack. “So, you’ve been ignoring me and being passive aggressive this entire time?”

“Why don’t you stay right out of our buisness, Mrs... Zoey,” Charlie had to check her name tag, despite the fact that she had served him the last _four_ times he had been here, including a trip two weeks ago which was marked with Charlie telling Joan that she could keep such trivial matters as her diner to herself. A lovely, happy couple.

“Of course she’s Zoey, she serves us every time! Hi, honey, can I get a coffee, black as you can make it, and a water with lemon?” When Joan turned towards her, her voice shifted, like she was trying to be nice to Zoey, like Zoey was a child who had walked into her parents fighting and now her mom was being kind to her.

And here was Charlie... who most decidedly _was not._

“Ah, yeah, sure,” Zoey said, not bothering with her order pad, as she could handle a black coffee and a water with lemon, and whatever Charlie was having, so long as he didn’t order every soda they had.

“You gonna write that down, or what?” Right on cue. Charlie’s piercing green eyes were staring her down, and Zoey felt like she would rather just melt into a puddle on the floor than face this. Reminded her too much of her own husband, and this place was her safe space... this place was where she was supposed to be _safe_ from him.

“Mr. Bennett, what will you be having to drink?”

“A black coffee and a Coke, if you bring any creamer or sugar to our table I’ll kill you.”

“Sir... there’s-“

“Charlie, there’s already creamer and sugar on our table,” Joan said softly, pointing to the small bowl full of those little cups of creamer, the large sugar dispenser, and a little thing full of Sweet & Low.

“Well, whatever, take it back to the kitchen with you when you go, then.”

“But I sugar my coffee, Charlie. Just because sugar offends you, doesn’t mean that it offends me! Unlike _your_ Yankee ass, I sugar my shit, I just like to sugar it _myself!_ ”

Zoey wasn’t going to tell them that the barista equipment that Autumn wanted to order had never come, probably because they were all broke and Joan didn’t really invest a ton of money into this buisness, that they served the coffee black anyway. There was a reason for the creamer and sugar being on the counter... but that made a little bit too much sense, Zoey guessed.

“Alright, two black coffees, water with lemon, and a Coke... I’ll be right back with that,” Zoey said, rushing a little, because she felt a tugging at her stomach and warm saliva in her mouth.

“I can’t believe that you’re so absorbed in yourself that you can’t even look a foot to your left and see the creamer and sugar,” Joan said, and Zoey knew it was safe to escape. 

She went to the bathroom in the back first, or, well, tried to, but only made it as far as the yellow mop bucket before the little bit of breakfast she had had came right back up in a brown and green twinged otherworldly blob.

“Clean it up, Zoey!” Eddy called at her, not even bothering to turn around from the stove. 

“Ah, uh, yes, Eddy,” Zoey said slowly, stumbling to her feet. Before she cleaned anything up, she went to the bathroom, dabbling some water on her hair to keep the loose ends stuck to the rest of her hair in the ponytail, rinsing her mouth out with some, and then scrubbing her hands clean, before she got the mop bucket and kicked it to the back door, dragged it to the nearest bush, and dumped out the greenish water and the brownish greenish vomit floating in it.

She pulled the mop bucket back inside and kicked it back to the back hallway where it had been, washed her hands again, and finally poured the Bennett’s drinks, two coffees, a water, and a Coke from the fountain machine.

“Gosh, five star service, we waited five minutes for our drinks,” Charlie barked at her, looking up from his phone just to look at his Rolex, tipping his wrist towards her, like she was supposed to be offended at that or something.

Zoey grit her teeth and set his drinks in front of him, and two straws in the middle of the table. “Coke and black coffee... black coffee and water. Are y’all ready to order?” This time, she took her order pad out of her apron pocket.

“Yes, I am,” Joan said.

“I haven’t even gotten a chance to look at the menu yet,” Charlie said, though he still didn’t look up from his phone. However, he did grab both of the straws, and Zoey silently slipped Joan another.

“Well, I can come back-“

“No, don’t. He always orders the same thing. I’ll have a piece of that pie of the day, the Dark Thoughts pie. Might be having some of those myself, today... and an order of blueberry pancakes.” 

“Aren’t we all having some dark thoughts, Mrs. Bennett... and for you, Mr. Bennett? Should I come back?”

“Ham and eggs, over hard, salted heavily, do not bring me bacon or I’ll throw the plate back at you,” he said, still, _still_ not looking away from his phone.

“Charlie, for God’s sake, there’s a salt and pepper shaker right next to your elbow,” Joan said.

“Alright, slice of that Dark Thoughts Pie, an order of blueberry pancakes-“

“You don’t have to repeat our words back at us every five seconds, Noelle, we know what we ordered.” Charlie looked like he was ready to throw his phone at her at any second.

“Well... I’m just making sure I heard it correctly.” Zoey shifted on her feet uncomfortably.

“Well, I’m sure you did, and if you didn’t, I sure hope you didn’t expect a good tip. I won’t let my bitch of a wife leave you a tip, either.”

“Charlie Alexander Bennett, how dare you!” Joan was rearing up like a viper again, again ready to strike and kill.

“You can’t scold me like that, you’re not exactly my mother!”

“You can’t talk to me like that, who do you think you are, _God?_ “

“Actually, I do!” 

“Okaayy... I will be right on out with that, y’all,” Zoey said awkwardly, taking Joan’s menu and gently tugging at Charlie’s from under his hands and phone. He lifted his phone up from it and glared at her, which let her quickly grab it and hurry away. 

“God, I’m sorry, Zoey, I didn’t know how bad it would be today,” Mo said, sounding sincere, at least, as Zoey handed Eddy the order. He slid it up onto the paper holder with a quiet nod at her, and Zoey went to go grab menus for a group of people who had just sat down at another one of her tables, and from her vantage point in the kitchen, were baffled at the Bennetts and staring at them.

“Whatever... but I am _not_ doing it the next time they come. I don’t care if they sit at every single one of my tables, you’re taking them,” Zoey said, taking the plastic cloche off one of the pies on the counter and sliding a piece of the Dark Thoughts pie onto a plate.

She’d come up with this one a few weeks ago, before she’d even known she was pregnant, when she’d considered clobbering her husband with a hot frying pan when he came into the diner and was his usual horrible self. So it was dark, dark chocolate, salt, a pinch of cinnamon, cranberries, some shredded radishes, and cherries without much sugar to sweeten them up, all in a ginger snap crust, giving the whole thing a deeply bitter taste, an almost shocking taste, but people were gobbling it up and ordering seconds, so maybe it wasn’t so bad.

Zoey took the piece of pie to the Bennet’s table, setting it down in front of Joan. “Here you go, Mrs. Bennett. Rest of your order will be right out.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, looking a little pale... and Mrs. Bennett got pale when she was angry. Zoey skittered away from the table before they got a chance to open their mouths again, taking to the new table, four friends who were still staring at the Bennetts.

Once they got their drink orders, table 15 wanted seconds on pie, and table 11 needed their check, and table 23 needed drink refills, so Zoey didn’t get a chance to duck back into her spice cabinet for entirely too long. And, unfortunately, it also meant she had to run and get the Bennett’s order.

“I got blueberry pancakes for Mrs. Bennett, and here’s your syrup, and eggs over medium and ham for Mr. Bennett,” Zoey said, thinking about whether less southern drawl would make Charlie hate her less or would more do the trick.

Evidently, neither.

“I ordered _bacon_ and eggs,” Charlie said with a scowl, turning it first on his order, and then at Zoey.

“I... I’m so sorry, Mr. Bennett, I’ll fix that right away,” Zoey said quietly, choosing to hold her tongue on the fact that he definitely did _not_ order bacon. But Joan, of course, was not going to hold her tongue.

“Charlie, you told the poor girl that you would throw the plate at her if she brought you bacon.”

“I most certainly did not, Joan!”

“I’ll come back with some bacon, do you want to keep that ham, or should I take it?”

“I can’t believe you, you threaten this poor woman with battery if she brings you bacon, she doesn’t bring you bacon, and now you’re upset?!”

“Joan, you can’t use the fact that you have a Princeton law degree over me, you haven’t used it in years.”

“Saying you threatened her with battery is not flexing a law degree over you, the one with no master’s degree-“

“I have a degree in business, and that’s enough... seems I’m much more successful than you are, any day of the week, so which one of us is doing better with our lives?”

Zoey gave up, handing table 12 a new water before continuing back to the kitchen. “Eddy, Mr. Bennett needs some bacon!”

Eddy grabbed the ticket off the ticket discarder and peered at it. “Says ham right here... did you take his order wrong?”

“No, I didn’t, but he sure seems to think I did... look, I just need some bacon, alright?”

Eddy sighed, putting the ticket back. “Coming right out, give me a minute or two. Table 23’s almost ready and then I’ll get to that.”

Zoey saw a hand reaching up and waving to her from table 22- of course, one of _those_ people, so she skittered away to refill a man’s Diet Coke and get him another piece of Dark Thoughts pie, and he was rude, but he wasn’t Charlie Bennett, and next to him, he looked like a saint. So she kept smiling and got him his Diet Coke, and by the time she’d handed it to him and come back, she could take table 23’s order to them, and then she could come back and grab Charlie‘s bacon.

“Here you go, sir, bacon, I’m so sorry,” Zoey said, setting it down in front of him. He’d already eaten his ham.”

“Don’t be sorry, Zoey, he’s an asshole,” Joan said. 

“Alright, that’s it, I have to get to Atlanta, anyway.” Charlie took out his wallet, slapped a ten down on the table, took the bacon off the plate, and slipped out of the booth. “Ten’s for the bill.”

“Yeah, to go meet Charles, who you were talking to with your Bluetooth off, sure.”

“I do legitimately have a meeting, Joan, I did tell you that we were doing this so I could get right on the highway after lunch-“

“Go, then! Run away, like you always do!”

“I will!”

Charlie stormed off, pushing Zoey aside as he stormed away, every set of eyes in the diner upon him... except, of course, Joan’s, who had picked up the ten and was looking at it, almost longingly, tracing a finger along Alexander Hamilton’s profile.

Zoey, meanwhile, had instinctively raised her hands to protect from getting hit, and dropped them as quickly as she realized, hoping that nobody had seen.

“I’m sorry for him,” Joan said, not looking at her, instead staring at the cash. “I’ll take the bill now, I guess.”

“Uh... yeah, sure,” Zoey said, in her Safe For Angry Max voice... a meek, timid tone, quiet, like a 50s housewife who should be seen and not heard. “I’ll get that right for you.”

As soon as Zoey crossed back into the kitchen, to the cash register, Mo rested a hand on Zoey’s shoulder... making her jump, because she hadn’t realized he was there. 

“Oh, Zoey, I’m sorry.. I’ll take them next time.” Mo did sound genuinely sorry, which was nice... but it didn’t change the fact that Zoey was shaking.

“I’m fine, Mo,” she said, punching in the ticket a little bit harder than she needed to. 

“Do you need to sit down for a bit?”

“No, I’m _fine_ , Mo,” Zoey insisted, shrugging his hand off her shoulder and taking the tab to Joan.

“It’s twenty dollars and seventy five cents,” Zoey said quietly, eyeing the ten... Joan would have money with her, maybe she’d get that ten as a tip. 

Joan took a look over the tab and removed her wallet from her purse (a white Valentino bag), rifling through for some cash, and took out a twenty, and then rifled further for three quarters.

“Ma’am, I can give you change..”

“Oh, no, I found some... aha!” Joan came up from her purse with two quarters, two dimes, and a nickel, as well as a hundred dollar bill. Zoey stood silently as Joan put the twenty and the change into the little leather book with the tab, figuring that she had just found the hundred floating around and that she was going to put it back in her purse once she finished paying, but she just handed Zoey Charlie’s ten dollar bill _and_ the wrinkled hundred. “That’s for you, for your trouble.”

Zoey stared at the bills in her hand incredulously... a hundred and ten dollars for a bill that should have given her roughly a five, and she had gotten spoken by Charlie, but Joan hadn’t even noticed... maybe she just felt sorry for her in general.

“Oh... thank you... thank you, so much,” Zoey said, voice even more timid than before... this was so much _money._

“No problem... we were problem children for you. If he makes that much of a stink next time we come here, I’ll tip just the same... shouldn’t have been letting Charlie dictate how much I tip. Get yourself something nice, alright?”

“Yeah... yeah, sure,” Zoey said, thinking about how the money was going to end up in Max’s pockets, probably get spent on some form of drinks, maybe get gambled away with the boys... she felt sick to her stomach, imagining how that much money would be spent. 

And she couldn’t bear it.

When she got home, she sat on the couch for a long time, putting her feet up on the coffee table to give herself a rest, holding the tip that Joan had given her in her hands. Overall, the entire rest of the day, she’d only made another fifty dollars besides the one hundred and ten Joan had given her... which was a pretty good day alone.

Zoey could not let him have this money... she could not let it go to waste at the bar, or on a poker table, or just get lost somewhere, so she’d get yelled at for it.

She unzipped the middle couch cushion on her 1970s vomit green sofa, slipped the hundred inside, as deep into the stuffing as she could, and was zipping it back up when she heard the front door open.

_Shit!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote 20k words for this fic yesterday (yesterday being a two hours ago) so please commebent 🥺🥺🥺


	6. (when) (if) (who) (where) he? sees me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autumn’s dating troubles prove to be excellent for Zoey, if for nothing else, to get the attention off of her for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me when i see a character who has a lot of very little personality that i can bend to my will: *rubs hands conspiratorially*
> 
> in all seriousness... autumn is probably the most like her canon counterpart (not dawn, canon autumn) in this entire fic which should **say something about this fic.**

Zoey couldn’t have him find out she was hiding money, not that she’d gone through twenty minutes of sitting on the couch, feet on the coffee table to rest from after work before he got home and ordered them off, putting his own feet up there, so she shoved the couch cushion back into it’s place and sat primly there, her back to him as he came barreling in.

“Well, hello, honey,” he said, and Zoey cringed, heart racing so fast it made her nauseous... more nauseous than she already was, anyway.

“Uh, hi, Max,” Zoey said quietly, turning her head towards him. 

“How’d we do today?” He plopped down next to her and shoved her shoulder a little bit, signaling that she should move over... and she did, scooching to the other end of the couch and trying to make herself as small as possible. Max put his feet, still in his shoes, on her lap.

Zoey silently went to take off his shoes.

“Uh, hello? Zoey, how’d we do?” Max gave her a pointed, expectant look.

Zoey forked over Charlie’s ten dollar bill and the other fifty, and held her breath as Max looked through it, terrified he was going to start shouting about how she was hiding things from him, while she undid his shoelaces with shaking hands.

“Not so good, huh?” Max asked, and Zoey still couldn’t breathe, gently removing one shoe and setting it down next to the couch, hands shaking so hard now that she could barely begin to undo the laces, bracing herself, wondering if she could protect her face if he kicked her.

“No..” Zoey said, almost a whisper.

A few moments passed, and Zoey felt like she was about to pass out, because she still hadn’t breathed... and wasn’t feeling okay to do so yet.

“Oh well, I’m sure you’ll do better tomorrow, won’t you?” He looked at her.

“Y-yeah... sure, of course, honey.” The ability to talk without breathing even a little was an acquired skill. 

“Good!” He stuck the cash in his back pocket of his cargo pants, wiggling his toes as Zoey removed his other shoe.

Zoey relaxed a tiny amount, and let the breath she’d been holding for _entirely_ too long out of her body, as quietly as she could.

“Now, sweetheart, where’s my kiss?” 

Zoey silently maneuvered his legs off her lap, leaned over, and gave him a quick peck on the lips- well, tried to, because then he held her by the back of her head, keeping her in the kiss for much longer than she wanted.

He kept kissing her and his other hand was roaming... oh god. Oh god.

“Max, honey, I’m not feeling so well... I’ve been throwing up all day,” Zoey said, removing herself from the kiss as soon as she felt the hand on the back of her head leave... of course, to grope her.

“Well, then, this will make you feel a lot better, won’t it?” He started kissing her neck, and Zoey tilted her head, not because it felt good, but to give him some space so that it wasn’t quite as uncomfortable.

“No, Max, honey, I really just want to take a nap before dinner...”

He took his face out of her neck and gave her a very serious look, and Zoey felt any resolve not to have sex with him melt away, because he was looking at her like he might just hit her. 

“We’re going to make _love_ , Zoey.”

Zoey just nodded absently.

At times like these, she retreated into her brain, letting herself go all but limp, letting him do whatever she wanted while she sat somewhere completely different, somewhere deep inside herself.

She could almost see her mother next to her, looking at her, _why had she let herself end up like this, Zoey?_

_I don’t know, Mom._

_______________________

Work was a constant... Max was unpredictable. Work was something she could always count on, to be, in general, the same amount of shitty as always, but Max could be what qualified, for him, as a sweetheart, one day, and the next, he was horrible, screaming and ranting while she made herself as small as she possibly could.

So, even though why _normal_ person would hate the work she did, despise it, she threw herself into it, letting work consume her, letting work be the one thing she could count on, because if she couldn’t count on anything, what was she going to do with her life? Her mom had been a housewife... Zoey wasn’t strong enough for that.

“Zoey, you’re awful pale today, you doing okay? The bun in the oven alright?” Autumn asked, looking concerned when Zoey glanced over as she rolled out pie dough.

“Yeah, Autumn, of course I’m fine,” Zoey said.

“You’re always pale... but today, you’re _really_ pale. Do you need to sit for a minute, can I get you anything?”

“Autumn, you’ve got tables, I’m sure.”

“Well, for the moment, they’re taken care of, so let me take care of you, won’t you?”

“Well, what if my answer is no?” Zoey was nothing if not stubborn... it would take her being dragged by a horse, kicking and screaming, to possibly get her to admit something was wrong, and that was only _possibly._ If the horse wasn’t as rough as it could _possibly_ be, there was no _possible_ way that Zoey, even then, would admit that she was hurting.

“Autumn, I’m fine, and I have _so many_ pies to make.”

“Yeah, well, you might need to take a break from those pies, because you’re looking like you might pass out at any moment. Have you eaten today?”

Zoey would have been able to lie pretty convincingly, had her body not betrayed her, her stomach growling angrily. 

“Alright, sit down, right now, I’m getting you water and something to eat,” Autumn said. The issue with Autumn insisting something, though, was that she was _Autumn_ , she had a little bit of spine, more than Zoey, but not as much as Ko, nowhere near. Mo could throw Zoey out of a window without a second thought, but Autumn was Autumn, and Zoey wasn’t taking orders from her.

“Autumn, I’m fine, seriously... did you hear that there’s a company offering free wine tours south of here, an all day experience, tour a vineyard, see how they make it, and taste it?”

“Well, I didn’t see that, who’s putting it on?” See? Autumn had no spine, and she was easily distracted.

“Uh, I think it’s got some fancy name I can’t remember, Redwine Wines or something... oh! Did you finish writing up your dating app profile?”

“Oh, well... I’m writing it, still.”

Mo came in, shoving an empty circular tray back into the stack of trays. “What’s Autumn writing? Damn, Zoey, you look like shit.”

“Her dating app profile,” Zoey said quickly.

“Oh, let’s hear it, Autumn.”

Autumn removed a piece of order paper from her apron, unfolded it, and read it out loud. “Ecstatically alive, enthusiastically American, Southern girl who likes the best in coffee and wine, dramatic and witty, and I am a woman of many more passions, including my live turtle collection, currently at two.”

Zoey quit rolling pie crust to turn around, putting one hand on her hip, giving Mo a Look from around Autumn’s head... this was bad. So very bad.

“And I love The Great British Baking Show, and, lastly, I have been Pavarti from Survivor in 33 Survivor LARPS,” Autumn finished, unaware. With the way she tilted her head, Zoey could tell, even though Autumn’s back was too her, she was beaming brightly at Mo. “So, what do you think?”

“Well, uh... certainly, it’ll put you apart from the crowd, Autumn,” Zoey supplied quickly, protecting Autumn from whatever hard truth had been on the tip of Mo’s tongue.

“And, I’m gonna call myself... wait for it...” Autumn turned so that she was kinda facing both of them, in some weird way that required a lot of twisting, and made two very dramatic jazz hands as she darted her head between Mo and Zoey as she spoke. “AutumnFalling!”

“Oh... oh, wow, Autumn. Wow... just, _wow_ ,” Zoey sputtered, trying not to lie but also trying not to be honest. 

“Autumn, it’s your one and only life... _however,_ ,” Mo began.

“Oh, save it,” Autumn said, letting her shoulders fall in disappointment, though she kept her mega-watt smile on her face. “It’s a dumb idea... it’s a dumb profile. I think I need more time than that to write it... think i might be more ready in a year or so.”

“Autumn, what Mo was trying to say-“ Zoey gave Mo a Look, dusting some flour off her hands as she spoke, “Was that it sets you apart. It’s very... it’s very _you._ And that’s good... if you wrote that you were a supermodel who loved Jesus and Hallmark movies, you’d be leading someone on.”

“Well, I sure don’t like Jesus very much, but Hallmark movies have their place, miss Zoey, when you’re sick, or you’re missing your mama..”

“Yeah, or you could just go _see_ your mama,” Zoey reminded Autumn that, in fact, her mother was _alive..._ and Zoey’s was not.

“Shit, sorry, Zoey! I meant, though, that-“

“That you’ll be putting your profile up _tonight_ , the second you get home, won’t you?” Mo jumped in.

“Of course I won’t, you two were quite clear about how bad it is-“

“It isn’t bad!” Zoey and Mo chorused at the same time, and Zoey sent Mo another withering Look, warning him to not continue his train of thought about what he really thought about Autumn’s dating app profile.

“It’s bad, and this is a mistake, now, I’m going to fill up these ketchup and mustard bottles,” Dawn said, gathering up an armful of red and yellow bottles that she’d been stacking up in the back of the kitchen all day. “You know, they were sitting on tables, not full, yesterday, and we can’t have that... the fuller the bottle, the fuller the experience.”

“Damn, Autumn, I’m sure Eddy will sleep tonight... but how about you? The one who’s going to waste your adult years pining for love romantically, watching Hallmark movies and longing for relationships like that, but never actually seeking it out?” Mo asked, following her to the condiment dispensers further back in the back of the kitchen.

Zoey started to follow, but she heard music beginning. Oh, god, no, not today... she couldn’t deal with a musical number today. She had gone three straight days without musical numbers, and she was absolutely living, feeling better than usual with the distinct lack of singing in her life.

But Autumn didn’t care, and neither did the universe... and it wasn’t like Zoey could make her not bust into song.

Autumn unscrewed lids as the music continued on, beating, waiting for her to join in, and finally, when she unscrewed the final ketchup lids, she sung.

_I stick with real things_

_Usually facts and figures_

_When information's in its place_

_I minimize the guessing game_

_Guess what?_

“Guess what?” She asked again, in her normal voice, not her singing one, and Zoey couldn’t tell if it was part of the song, or part of real life, but she was looking right at her and Mo, and she felt she needed to respond.

“What?” She and Mo asked at the same time.

_I don't like guessing games_

_Or when I feel things_

_Before I know the feelings_

_How am I supposed to operate_

_If I'm just tossed around by fate?_

_Like on an unexpected date?_

_The stranger who might talk too fast_

_Or ask me questions about myself_

_Before I've decided that_

_He can ask me questions about myself_

As she sang, she pumped ketchup into a bright yellow bottle, punching the pump for every beat of the music, and Mo silently directed Autumn to the other pump, letting her pump in mustard instead.

_He might sit too close_

_Or call the waiter by his first name_

_Or eat Oreos_

_But eat the cookie before the cream?_

_But what scares me the most..._

_What scares me the most..._

Preparing for the chorus, Autumn stopped filling bottles, running to the back hallway, and Zoey felt compelled to follow, watching as Autumn burst out of the back door and into the outside world. And it was cold outside... why did Autumn insist on singing in the most dramatic way possible?

_Is what if when he sees me, what if he doesn't like it?_

_What if he runs the other way and I can't hide from it?_

_What happens then?_

_If when he knows me, he's only disappointed?_

_What if I give myself away, to only get it given back?_

_I couldn't live with that_

_So, I'm just fine, inside my shell-shaped mind_

_This way I get the best view_

_So, when he sees me, I want him to..._

Autumn stared wistfully at the highway, the same highway Zoey would often wistfully stare at on slow days... but for different reasons. Zoey stared at it when daydreaming about escape, about the road, about driving a red pickup truck of her own with the windows down, blasting a true crime podcast as she drove far, far away, to anywhere but here. Somewhere where she could be free.

Autumn was singing at the highway, from up here on a little hill, looking down upon it, wistful for love, for her Prince Charming to sweep her off her feet. Autumn had gone to the same high school as Zoey, and she later confessed to her that she had had a crush on Max when she and him had begun dating the summer after they graduated.

Max was charming and cute back then, with big dreams, but the part of Zoey that was intent on helping other people and keeping stubborn was very, very glad that Max had ended up marrying her.

Autumn continued with the second verse of her song, going back inside, finishing up with the ketchup and mustard bottles, and inadvertently insulting Mo and Zoey, at least a little, with the lyric, _I could end up a miserable wife!_

They both gave Autumn sideways glances, which led to Zoey hypothesizing that this was a song happening in real time, and Autumn might just be talking, rather than singing, but whatever it was, for Zoey, it was a lot of music and singing, and she loved Autumn very much, but she really, really didn’t want to deal with the singing right now, because it meant she was going to have to solve Autumn’s problems or something.

Finally, though, it looked like Autumn had convinced herself a little by the end of the song... and then, they were back at the back of the kitchen, and Autumn sighed, without a musical accompaniment.

“Alright, fine, girls, I’ll post it... tonight. You can check on OkCupid if you don’t believe me, I’ll post it at 8PM sharp.”

“Thank god for that!” Mo said. “Praise the lord.”

“Yeah..” Zoey agreed, a little bit unenthusiastically. Because as her luck and her heart songs would probably have it, Autumn probably _wouldn’t_ post it, and then she would have to deal with the fallout. Because that was Zoey Richman’s job, as resident Person Who You Inadvertently Poured Your Innermost Thoughts Out To In Musical Form.

And she hadn’t even given Zoey the courtesy of singing a song where Zoey could look up the Genius lyrics for it! She had sung an original song- there had been too many of those, lately- and had spelled it out crystal clear for Zoey how she was feeling.

Score one for being a good person... she needed to get over herself and help the poor girl, or she was going to end up a sad, alone, turtle lady for the foreseeable future.

“Anyway, since I _still_ don’t see any new tables, or tables that need our attention, gotta love Wednesday afternoons,” Mo began, peering over the counter to confirm that, “How’s the bun in the oven, Zoey?”

“It is doing just fine... but it’s a fetus, not a bit of bread, call it what it is.”

“Hey, just asking,” Mo said, putting his hands up in surrender. “Have you written that letter to your baby yet?”

“Uhhh... not yet. I will, soon, though, I just... haven’t come up with the right thing to say, yet.”

“You could write practice letters before you put it in the book,” Autumn volunteered with a smile.

“Now why don’t you two shush, anyhow, I don’t want Eddy to hear. I like my job, and I intend to keep it. Eddy will fire me soon as I’m too swollen to run.”

“Oh, Eddy won’t, he doesn’t have the balls to fire me, and you’re the one person that the Bennetts kinda like. I mean, she tipped you so good after they came in... shame that Max got that tip.”

“Actually...” Zoey lowered her voice, looking around, half expecting Max to pop out of a corner and ask for a kiss. “I hid the hundred dollar bill in the couch cushions.. and I took a little bit of my tips from yesterday and put it with it.”

Autumn and Mo both gasped dramatically, which was honestly a little bit rude... even if Zoey never hid things from Max and never took any control of her own life, it wasn’t any of their business, case closed, and she was only telling them because they were nosy as hell.

“Look at you, Zoey! Taking control of your own life... that’s really good,” Mo said, looking at her like a proud mother hen. “What’re you gonna do with it?”

“I don’t know,” Zoey said honestly. “Maybe buy a crib?”

“Oh, I’m sure you have much more exciting things planned for your money than that... your money! Isn’t that thrilling?” Autumn was probably way too excited about this... she was thinking about pedicures in strip malls and maybe a few new clothes. That was thrilling to Autumn... Zoey had something entirely different in mind, even if she chose not to mention it just yet, in case saying it would ruin the plans.

She wanted to use it to take her baby and _run away._

“Well, I know how you can add to your money, Zoloft, because I read in Phyllis’ paper, there’s a pie baking contest in Springfield. It’s not for months and months, you might have had the baby by then, but... first prize is twenty five thousand dollars.”

 _More than enough to take her baby and go start a new life,_ Zoey finished for Mo silently. She could do so much... she could even buy a car, she could buy a car from somewhere and take off, still with money for rent and clothes and food, with a baby in the backseat, and blast those murder mystery podcasts as loud as she damn well pleased.

“That... is a lot of money,” Zoey said, letting, just for a moment, the fantasy overtake her.

_Just Me, Baby, and the Road Pie._

A chocolate crust, and a filling of cherries, apples, and steak, to represent her, zings of citrus in blood oranges, to represent the murder mystery podcast, and the blood if she accidentally stabbed Max on her way out, some lemon and lime juice, maybe some chili chocolate... and some cactus flowers, for the baby. Spiced with a touch of cinnamon, powdered sugar, and all wrapped in brown sugar, so much brown sugar, salt and pepper and a touch of paprika. For the road part, she could serve something on the side... or maybe on top of something... a bit of chocolate bark?

But the fantasy, like all good things, had to fade away. 

“But... I couldn’t sneak away and go and win that without Max finding out... my name and face would be on the news, and he always watches the news during dinner... I couldn’t do that.”

“Sure you could... you have enough dirt on him to get a restraining order, if nothing else,” Mo suggested hopefully.

Zoey shook her head, filing the pie idea onto a shelf in her brain, along with the fantasy... tucked away neatly, for the next time she, too, was tucked away in her brain.

It was foolish to hope, foolish to dream... maybe it could get her through Max and sex with him, but it was not for serious consideration... she was hiding money to get a crib and baby clothes. Nothing else. Nothing more. 

Because she would not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i was proofreading this chapter i realized i reused the betsy ross and the revolutionary war re-enactments in this and decided hm... no.... BECAUSE TELL ME AUTUMN WOULD NOT LARP, LOOK ME IN THE EYE-


	7. donnelly (pie/gynecologist/married/annoying)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey receives her 16 week checkup at the gynecologist and (unsuccessfully) tries to stifle her personality to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> l e i f 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Unfortunately, Zoey had to deal with the lovely, lovely fact that she had to go see the gynecologist again, since he’d had her make an appointment for sixteen weeks. This, he said, was when she could find out the sex of her baby.

The happy go lucky pregnant ladies in the waiting room were a different group, but a creepy rendition of Celine Dion’s A Mother’s Prayer was enough to make Zoey make herself as tiny as she possibly could in her chair, waiting as Nurse Norma, who was, of course, back again, calling out names like Miss Charity Dawson, Mrs. Amanda DeWatt, and then, finally, after what had felt like an eternity of waiting, “Mrs. Richman? The doctor will see you now.”

Zoey got to her feet gratefully, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead so that she didn’t have to look at the creepy singing mommies... imagine being that happy about a fetus in your body, taking up your resources, giving you heartburn, sore tits, and being such picky eaters that you threw up everything, and it was all the fault of the fetus.

Who would want this on purpose? Kids were cute and all- she had wanted to be a pediatrician as a teenager before she remembered that she lived in a trailer park (the fact that she had a split level and a manageable mortgage was luxury compared to where she’d grown up, a Comfort Inn versus a Motel 6), but... the fact that people spent hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands, on fertility treatments completely and utterly baffled her, when they could just adopt a kid and not deal with a fetus making them miserable all the time? Let someone else do the fetus misery, you could get some kid that they hadn’t wanted (and she could only half blame them after going through this shit), and then boom. American family. What was there not to love?

Zoey followed Nurse Norma back to the same room she’d been in before, and before she got to see good old Dr. Donnelly, she got her blood pressure taken, weighed, and asked how she was feeling.

“Lousy.”

“You get that ghost problem taken care of?”

“Nah, my mom’s haunting me,” Zoey responded, without missing a beat.

Nurse Norma laughed. “Good for you... I just know my grandma’s turning in her grave because of what my son’s doing. Oh well. She’ll go away eventually.”

“Yeah, try telling that to her.”

Zoey was mostly joking around, but... in her worst moments with Max, she could feel her eyes upon her, her bright green eyes asking her the question _why?_ Her mom had been the example... she was what _not_ to do if you wanted a happy and safe life. And now here she was, she had become her mother... and what was she supposed to do now? She would have this baby, fantasies about escaping aside (Although, her renamed Escaping With My Truck pie had flown off the holders, and earned a spot in her unicorn pie recipe book.)

“Alright, well, Dr. Donnelly will be in soon, and then we can start the ultrasound. You excited to find out the sex of your baby?”

“I, uh, don’t really know if I wanna know,” Zoey said, like it wasn’t obvious. She was having a little girl, and that little girl was going to get the same model of healthy relationships as she had gotten... and no matter how much Zoey told her to go follow her dreams and get out of the cycle, she would likely end up with a Max of her own. She had already failed her daughter.

“Oh, you wanna do one of those gender reveal things? I could write it down and you could give it to your husband..”

“Just... I dunno.”

Before Nurse Norma could open her mouth again, Dr. Donnelly came in, and Zoey couldn’t decide who was more annoying, Nurse Norma or good ol’ Dr. Donnelly.

Rather than scrubs, he was wearing jeans and a green vest over a white button down, and a black tie, with that doctor lab coat over all of it, his name embroidered on the breast pocket, and... Zoey didn’t know how the hell he made that work, but damnit, it did. He looked... presentable. 

“What happened to the scrubs?” She had to ask.

“Well, hello, Mrs. Richman-“

“Zoey. Didn’t I tell you to call me Zoey last time?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs- Zoey. And as for the scrubs... I don’t recall the exact date you last cams in, but if I was wearing scrubs, I had probably delivered a baby.”

“Well, good for you, I guess,” Zoey said.

Dr. Donnelly went over to the box of gloves on the counter across from the examination bed Zoey was sitting on, a little bit thankful that she was pregnant in the fall, because she wasn’t wearing anything that could let her legs stick to the horrible tan vinyl. Of course, it would be much more ideal not to be pregnant at all...

“So. Finding out the sex today?” He snapped on the gloves and sat down on his rolling stool with his legs spread, in that way that only doctors seemed to be able to do. 

“Actually... I don’t think so. I don’t... I already know.”

Dr. Donnelly raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Did you go to another doctor?”

“No... I just... I _know._ It’s a girl. And... I would like to just keep it as I’m pretty sure it’s a girl, and leave it at that, so that I don’t have to deal with the fact that learning the sex seems to make it more... real. At least from all the media mommies.”

“Wow, you’re just a ball of sunshine. Lay back, please.”

She gave him an unimpressed look as she laid back, regretting her decision to leave her high ponytail in, because now the back of it was picking directly onto the table, leaving her head slightly up, unless she tilted her chin down, which also felt uncomfortable... either way, she would be laying here for the next however long this took slightly uncomfortable.

“Alright, now, the gel will be a bit cold,” he said, pulling up her shirt and applying a glob of gel to her stomach.

“A bit? Jesus fuck!” Zoey exclaimed, embarrassingly loudly, before she could stop herself. “Sorry..”

Dr. Donnelly was unfazed. “I have had women say they want to strangle me... while in labor, yes, but... relax. I won’t be able to take a good look if you’re all tensed up.”

“Is that true?”

“Nope,” Nurse Norma chimed in. “But relax, girlie.”

Dr. Donnelly took his magic wand that looked like a vibrator and stuck it on Zoey’s stomach, and on the monitor next to her head, an image appeared as he slowly moved the stick around.

“Well, Mrs. Richman... there’s your baby.”

“Oh.” Zoey didn’t even bother to correct him on her name... because this... made things much more real.

Even if she wasn’t learning the sex (that she already knew), seeing her baby... seeing the fetus made it... there was actually a human being growing inside her. It was one thing to know that it was there... it was another to _see it._

“And there’s a heartbeat... do you want to listen?”

“Uhh... sure?”

And then the room was completely silent, the only sound being the _thump, thump, thump, thump_ of a heartbeat.

There was something _alive_ inside her body... something living. Maybe not breathing... but it’s heart was beating... it was moving in a little amniotic sac full of pee. It was just waiting to be big enough to come out and screw up Zoey’s thin hips in the process.

And it scared Zoey.

This child... be it a girl or boy or something in between, was going to grow up in that 1970s split level with furniture that looked from about the same time and the model of behavior from it’s father and the model of a good relationship from it’s mother and father... it was going to turn out like Zoey, probably, with some terrible spouse.. or, god forbid, _be_ that terrible spouse.

And Zoey was powerless to stop it.

“Alright, well, Zoey... I can see what the sex is, do you want to know?” Dr. Donnelly cut out whatever it was he was doing that made it so Zoey would be tortured by the heartbeat and moved the wand a little.

“No, thank you,” Zoey said quickly.

“Alright then... just checking to make sure everything is healthy, then...” he made a focused face, moving the wand around a little bit and making small hms and ohs for a few agonizing minutes, leaving Zoey with only her own thoughts, which was never a good place to be.

“Alright, Zoey, you’ve got a wonderful, healthy baby!” He reported finally, and finally removing the wand from her stomach. Nurse Norma ran a white paper towel across her stomach, removing the gel, thank god. Zoey felt herself relax just a tiny bit, and as soon as Nurse Norma had wiped off her stomach with a second towel for good measure, pulled down her shirt and sat up.

“Alright, so, I should have asked this earlier, but you distracted me with asking about my scrubs, but how have you been feeling, Zoey?”

Oh, so she couldn’t escape yet? Fuck.

“Absolutely horrible... I don’t understand why anyone does this to themselves on _purpose.”_

“That’s normal... morning sickness, tenderness in your breasts, heartburn?”

“Yes... but they’re _boobs._ I’m not a piece of chicken.”

“From here on out, it is my solemn vow that I will refer to them as boobs to you, Zoey.”

She tilted her head at him. “I don’t understand you... I don’t understand you one bit. You’re so...”

“I’m not from around here, and I’m not Dr. Perkins, unfortunately, so you’ll just have to deal with me. Unfortunately.”

“Unless I’m uncomfortable with you and choose to take my business elsewhere.”

“Well, yeah, of course. But you seem to have shown up for your appointment... and I’d like to see you back here in six weeks.”

“What special, magical thing happens at twenty two weeks pregnant?”

“Nothing in particular, merely the miracle of life and your body developing in a beautiful way with your baby,” he said, not missing a beat.

“I don’t understand you... I quite dislike you, actually. I get off work at five exactly six weeks from now.”

“I believe I have an appointment open at that time... I’m surprised you have your schedule memorized.”

“Well, if that’s settled, I’ll be on my way, Dr. Donnelly.” She picked up her purse and stood up, ready to be out of here.

“Well, then... if you’re in such a rush... remember to call me if you have any questions or concerns, of course.”

“Of course, Dr. Donnelly.” _Now please, let me get out of here._

_________________

Most people would not count the fact that their husband was clueless in reasons why they were lucky... but Zoey did.

When he was there, watching the local news blare as he ate the pulled pork she had stuck in the crock pot this morning without a second thought about how much thought and effort she’d put into it, other than an absentminded “Huh, it’s good,” or some pie she’d made especially for him that he ate quickly without a single compliment as Wheel Of Fortune droned on (not that there was much else to watch, when they only had twelve channels, it was this or Entertainment Tonight), he didn’t care about her, sitting as small as she could on the other side of the couch, tensing up whenever he shouted a (wrong) answer at the television, and even if she was uncomfortable, all that she had to do was sit there, not say anything that he didn’t want to hear, if she just lost every single piece of herself he wouldn’t hurt her.

And if she lost every single piece of herself, she wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that she was pregnant... she could just sit there, she could just pretend everything was completely fine... she wouldn’t have to say anything. If she didn’t say anything besides stroking his ego and handing him (most of) the tips she’d gotten that day, nothing bad would happen.

It just meant that she was giving up the last piece of herself she hadn’t already sacrificed for the sake of simply remaining alive with him, it just meant that she was going to have to stay silent even when she wanted so badly to say something... he could only push her so far into herself. _Zoey_ had to be the one to make the final push into a plastic, perfect little housewife with an adoring gaze. Zoey had to do that herself... and she was well on her way.

At work, even without meaning to, she had evidently glazed over as well, her behavior from home spilling over into how she acted at work, that smiling matriarch of a nuclear family, devoid of personality. 

At least, according to Mo, who had barricaded her in the spice cabinet and announced that neither of them were leaving until Zoey snapped out of it.

“Snap out of what?” Zoey asked, trying to play dumb... even if she knew deep down that there was _no way_ it would work.

“This... you know what this is. Zoey, you really can’t hide this from him forever.”

“What does that have to do with anything, though?”

Mo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t just... become a shell. Not now... Zoey... if you want to escape, I’ll help you. But you can’t escape mentally and call it a day.”

“I’m not, Mo, mind your own business,” Zoey said. She wasn’t protesting because she wanted to leave the spice cabinet, because she was perfectly fine with remaining in there for ages- it was the size of a huge walk in closet, it was loaded with food and she could dream up as many pies and little escapism fantasies as she wanted... it was her safe place inside her safe place. 

“I’m minding my own business quite well... you need to mind your mental business. You can’t just draw back, Zoey... you are a vibrant young woman with a future ahead of you... if you just let other people in. If you just let us help.”

“We’re here for you, Zoey, we promise,” Autumn said, popping her head into the doorway. “You can be you... you kinda have to be you.”

Zoey sighed and shook her head. “I have so much work to do.”

“So do I, Zoey... but you aren’t leaving here until you cut it out,” Mo snapped.

“That’s fine, I love this place.”

“Now, I know this probably isn’t the best place to stage an intervention, but damnit, Zoey... you gotta stop. You gotta fucking be Zoey... or I’m going to throw you out a window or something.”

“How does Sunshine and Everything’s A-Ok Pie sound to you girls?”

“Sounds like Sesame Street and you trying to ignore our help.”

“Oh, sesame seeds... that would go good. I’m also thinking lemon, soft, floating pillows of pomegranate merengue, orange, cherries...”

“And I’m thinking about how horrible it is to be around you when you’re acting like this.”

“Then don’t be around me, Mo!” Zoey said, slamming her rolling pin onto her dough and beginning to roll.

“Is this what your mom would’ve wanted?”

Zoey stopped... let a beat pass.

“You kinda don’t get to say that, Mo... that’s not fair,” she said quietly.

Again, she felt her mother’s eyes upon her, felt the presence of someone standing beside her, a heavy weight following her mom as she gave her the look of _Why, Zoey?_

Zoey glanced over her shoulder... and she wasn’t there. Damn Mo for playing that card... damn him.

“If I don’t say anything that he might not want to hear, if I just stroke his ego, nod and smile, I don’t have to say anything more... I won’t upset him, I don’t have to tell him I’m pregnant.”

“Gee, if everything’s that great when you do that, Zoey, I wonder why you hadn’t tried it sooner? Oh, probably because you give up every single last bit of yourself when you do that... and then it bleeds into work,” Mo said, quieter now. 

“Well... I’m sorry. For upsetting you... but I can’t... it’s working, for right now. I’ll stop doing it here, I’ll be me for you... but I’m not going to be me for Max. I’m going to be my nice little plastic Barbie doll housewife... please understand I’m doing it as a coping mechanism.”

“It’s a dumb coping mechanism, Zoey,” Autumn said. 

“It’s Tuesday today... he’s going drinking with the boys. Go treat yourself... get a strip mall pedicure with us. Relax a tiny bit?” Mo suggested.

Zoey shook her head. “I can’t... I’m going to have to go home. It means, at least, I’ll get a few extra hours of sleep than normal.”

“Whatever.... but you have to understand, Zoey. We’re here for you. We want to help. And I’ve been itching to punch him for years.”

“Just... let me figure myself out, alright? I won’t draw back into myself at work... just let me figure myself out, Mo.”

He sighed, but relented, relaxing a little bit and coming into the spice cabinet, clearing the way for Zoey to leave. She didn’t, still rolling out her crust.

“Autumn, how’s the dating going?” Zoey asked, changing the subject.

“Not so great at the moment... nobody’s really responded to my profile. Except for a porn company that sends messages asking if you want to be in a porno.” Autumn shuddered.

“Oh.. gross. Well... I’m sure you’ll find someone. Just be patient, Autumn.”

As she draped her crust over her pie tin, she realized that her whole life was just patience. Patient, that maybe something would happen and her dad would stop being so evil or her mom would get them out of there, patient that maybe one day Max would go back to the way he was, patient that maybe if she hid money for long enough, she could get out.

Or maybe not patience... hope. 

She should probably cut that out about now... because hope was a dumb concept if she’d ever heard one. Hope was for people who had something real to hope for... Zoey just had her pies and her fantasies. She had no way to make those fantasies realities... she just had her own mind. She could hide... or just exist, quietly.

But hope? Hope was something only stupid people had... so that was the last hope had ever heard of Zoey Richman. From now on, she would dream small, or not at all- dream that her favorite milk would be at the grocery store.

Those were the dreams wives like herself should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember this fic is 100k long so uh... bad idea isn’t for a bit >:)


	8. it only takes a taste (is it something special?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey, unfortunately, runs into Dr. Donnelly outside of the doctor’s office, a scary place without the pretext of Zoey’s lady business to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the previous chapter i forgot to change the publication date before i put it up, please make sure you’ve read chapter 7 before this!

After getting off her shift that night around seven (Tuesday nights were never particularly busy, so she didn’t feel bad leaving the place to Mo and Autumn and at the mercy of Eddy), Zoey put on her sweater, took her purse, and walked half a mile to the nearest bus stop.

The bench was cold, and the cold soaked through her thin, short waitress uniform, so she clutched her worn grey cardigan closer around her, standing up just long enough to pull the end of the cardigan so that she was sitting on it. It didn’t help much, the cold creeping through the thin yarn and back up to her fast.

The bus here was unreliable, it could come in three minutes, or it could be an hour. The bus drivers were never usually really awake, or really interested in a schedule, and when they stopped at the Walmart two towns away it was a thirty minute stop just to get in and out of the parking lot... but that town was an hour from here. She couldn’t give it the benefit of the doubt for that.

To distract from the cold, Zoey leaned back against the bench and pulled another fantasy up in her mind. She was posing for a picture with a huge check, like those ones you got if you won Publisher’s Clearing House, and her winning pie. That Sunshine And Everything’s A-Ok pie had inspired her... for her winning pie, she was thinking about a Jumping Without A Net Bottomless Pie.

Pillows of that soft, airy merengue, ribbons of strawberry cream. No crust. Or maybe a Getting Out Of The Mud Pie... huge scoops of mocha almond ice cream, and what about a good helping of whipped cream, a bit of Rocky Road, bittersweet chocolate morsels, slivered almonds... and of course the pie part-

“Um... hello.”

Zoey snapped out of her reverie to find... oh, lord.

Dr. Donnelly was standing there, in black pants, a blue and white stripped button down, a brown leather jacket, a brown messenger bag over his shoulder, crossing over his chest... no tie today, and no lab coat... but those same stupidly kind, sparkling blue eyes, that swoop of blonde hair, and an awkward smile.

“Oh... Dr. Donnelly. Hello.”

“You take the bus, huh?” He asked.

Well, of course she took the bus, she wasn’t sitting there for her health, but she just decided to be a tiny bit less rude to him today. “Yeah, I do... and you?”

“Not normally... I usually drive, but my car wouldn’t start this morning. Kept cranking without catching.”

“Oh, that’s winter in Georgia for you... it probably just needed to get warmed up.”

“Well, I got it towed, and it’s apparently ready to be picked up, and has for hours... maybe it was just the south. Oh, can I... do you mind if I sit down?”

“I’ll bet. I don’t have a car, but... it’s pretty obvious what the issue was. You’re in the South now. Oh, and yes.”

He sat down next to her, but on the other side of the bench, giving her ample room. He didn’t spread his legs... he kept them to himself. It was weird... he didn’t manspread, he was polite. What man ever did that?

“Huh. Does your husband have a car?” He continued, clearly not exactly hung up on the way he’d sat down, like Zoey was.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t pick me up... and anyway, he’s out drinking with the boys tonight. I make my own fun on the bus.”

“Well... I forgot to mention at your last appointment, but maybe he should come to your next appointment... it’s good for future fathers to connect with their child. Just because you’re the one carrying your baby doesn’t mean that he doesn’t also have a responsibility to bond... and it makes it not quite a shock when it pops out at the end.”

Zoey decided not to mention the part where she hadn’t told her husband that the baby even existed, or that her husband was a deadbeat who couldn’t hold down a job... some things were her own private business.

“Well... I’ll mention it to him. So, uh, Dr. Donnelly... where do you live?”

“Oh, Stanton Grove.”

Oh. The rich side of town. 

“Ah.. it’s nice over there.”

“I guess... if you like trees.”

Who didn’t like trees?

“So, uh... you’re a waitress?” Dr. Donnelly asked, somehow unable to let go of the awkward conversation, to let Zoey sit there in peace and wait for her bus.

“Yeah... you’re a doctor?”

He smiled a little bit. “Most of the time... yeah.” He laughed awkwardly... and Zoey joined in. Mostly because this conversation was so, so, so awkward... when they didn’t have doctorly matters to attend to, they just... existed. And they didn’t have much to say to each other.

And Zoey still hated him, for the most part.

“Your husband’s got a good job, huh?”

“That’s my private business... but yeah,” Zoey lied. No, he ducking didn’t... whenever he even had a job it was minimum wage and absolutely horrible and he griped and groaned.

“Alright then... where do you work? Since you know where I work already.”

“Oh, Joan’s Diner. Little place off Highway 27... I make the pies there. Made fresh every day... I do sound like a commercial, I apologize.”

“Oh, wow, pies... so you made that pie you brought me... well, the pie you brought Dr. Perkins? The Mermaid Marshmallow Dream one?”

“Yeah, I did... did you eat it?”

“I admit... I did. And it was... heaven in a pie tin. Oh! I have your pie tin in my bag... I forgot to give it back to you at your last appointment.” He opened his bag and pulled out her pie tin... he’d washed it. Probably had to, it had been six weeks since she’d seen him... but still. It was a little bit nice.

“Thanks,” Zoey said, smiling a bit as she took it the pie tin in her hands, holding it delicately on her lap. “I invented it when I was nine... with my mom, in my mermaid phase.”

“Zoey, truly, it was, without a doubt, the single best pie I have ever tasted in my life... I’m not just saying that. Every bite was better than the last and I was mad when it was done.”

“Well, at Joan’s, we serve twenty-seven varieties of pies... breakfast pies, your regular pies, lunch pies, and a special pie I invent every day.”

“Wow... must be a virtual pie factory in there. Might I ask, does anything you put your hands on taste that good?”

Zoey tilted her head at him slightly... he was gushing about her pies, which was nothing she wasn’t used to, but with most people who gushed about her pies were sitting at a table in Joan’s, and she could go “Oh, thank you, honey,” and let the compliments go in one ear, out the other.

She didn’t know what about how Dr. Donnelly was talking about her pies made it so that she couldn’t just let it go like that... something about how he was talking about her pies made her hold onto every word.

“Well, thanks... but I’m no Paula Dean.” 

“No, you aren’t... you’re so much better than her. Your pie... I can’t stop taking about it! It’s been weeks, but I can’t get over how good it was. It was biblically good... it could win contests, ribbons, it could make world peace.”

“Wow... those are certainly words.”

“Oh, I forgot, you don’t like compliments.” He smiled, and damnit, that was unfair. “Except, you’re blushing.”

“Compliments make me uncomfortable,” Zoey said simply, fighting back a smile.

“Well... maybe if I keep complimenting you, you’ll start feeling a bit more comfortable.”

Music began in her ears... Oh, god. Zoey didn’t even know what she was most scared of coming out of his mouth... an endless stream of compliments to the tune of some horrible song. Oh god, oh god, oh god, _oh, god._

Dr. Donnelly, despite only having seen him thrice in her life... was kinda the bane of her existence, other than Max. She hated him, so much. He was just... annoying. Weird. Jumpy, weird sense of humor... she really didn’t have a good reason for hating him, other than her principles.

And now she got to listen to him _sing._ Excellent.

The song began with him talking... so, another one happening in real time.

“You know what's kind of funny?”

“Hm?” Zoey asked, electing to play along, regardless of whether he could hear her. 

“Just seeing you sitting here all by yourself in your uniform...”

And he began to sing. Yikes.

You remind me of a girl I once knew

God, by now she's well in middle age

Probably forty-one, or forty-two.

“Uhh... thank you?” Zoey said, laughing a little. She knew that the world had worn her down, but she figured she was looking _slightly_ younger than forty-two.”

“Oh my god... oh my god, no, no, no, I’m sorry!” Dr. Donnelly said, rushing to apologize profusely.

_She was a waitress at a shop I used to frequent quite a lot_

_Nice teeth and small hands_

_And she snuck me goodies, I couldn't afford them_

_She was sweet to me_

_Reminds me of you._

Zoey was about ninety-eight percent certain that he was sing-talking, that she was actually supposed to respond, or she’d look crazy... she was the crazy one, having music in her brain to go along with this.

And this... whatever _this_ was... was becoming increasingly... weird.

“Oh, well... nobody ever notices me in a way like _that_ , sooo...”

“Well, someone did, didn’t they?”

“What?”

“You, uh, you’re a degree pregnant, if you don’t mind me saying. Me being your doctor and all...”

Zoey just sat there... mostly because she couldn’t come up with a smart clap back, especially not before he began sing-talking or whatever the hell it was again.

_She'd bake the pies fresh every day_

_Like you, I guess_

_But I must say_

_If pies were books, yours would be Shakespeare's letters_

_You remind me of her_

_But... better._

Why was Zoey blushing a little bit? She wasn’t blushing... it was probably a warm draft of air suddenly hitting her among the cheek-numbing cold. Not blushing... she wasn’t blushing. Why would she be?

_It only takes a taste when it's something special_

_It only takes a taste when you know it's good_

_Sometimes one bite is more than enough_

_To know you want more of the thing you just got a taste of._

Zoey was about ready for this weird song to be over already- she was a little tired of originals- but... oh, god!

She was just gearing up to respond, since to him, this was just a conversation like regular people had, and she felt the words rising in her throat more like _a song._ Like she was _singing._

Whether he would be able to tell she was singing, she didn’t know... all she knew was that she wanted to run. Screw this bus, she could walk home... it was just that something kept her from moving and made her blurt out a second verse.

_That reminds me of a thing we would say_

_Me and my mama in the kitchen when we'd bake_

_She’d say, “Zoey, you can tell the whole story with a taste”_ Zoey sang. Now she was spilling about her angsty backstory? Wonderful. Truly amazing.

“Yeah!” 

No, that's exactly what I mean

I swear that as those flavours mixed and melted

I could hear the sirens sing

It was truly something special

One taste and I want the whole thing...

The way he sang the end of it, with a tiny little growl... her cheeks were not hot. There was just a warm wind floating around. Absolutely nothing more. He was unattractive, flat, bland. White.

_I must say it felt like I was carried away, intoxicated_

_Made me escape the room I was in_

_I can't help but wonder_

_How your hands must have felt creating such a masterful thing_

“Just one bite caused all that wondering?” Zoey asked... sincerely curious. A tiny part of her wanted him to continue.

 _It only takes a taste_ he responded, smiling at her, tilting his head at her, not in a judging way... but in a kind way. Zoey felt her voice rise to harmonize with him before she could stop it.

_It only takes a taste when you know it's good_

_Sometimes one bite is more than enough_

_To know you want more of the thing you just got a taste of,_ they sang. Zoey was surprised at how their voices sounded together... his sweet little tenor croon with her weak little alto, somehow supporting her voice and carrying it with him with ease.

She was... her heart was beating fast. A thrill had gone down her spine... a chill on her whole body. A shiver. Well... a literal shiver. This cardigan had been her mother’s for twenty years, hand-knit by a grandmother she’d never met, and when her mom had died, Zoey took it, and worn another five years into it. It had thinned, it was almost to the pint where it could be considered threadbare now, big brown buttons having been sewn back on countless times. But since she didn’t keep her money (as far as Max knew) she couldn’t get anything better.

“Oh, you’re cold, here,” Dr. Donnelly said, beginning to slide out of his coat. Big, brown leather, warm. Lined with something soft, she could see as he took it off. 

“Oh, don’t, I’m alright,” Zoey protested, but Dr. Donnelly couldn’t seem to take no for an answer ever, draping his coat around her shoulders.

It was... really nice. Warm, because body heat, and it smelled like some nice laundry detergent. The kind that rich doctors who lived in Stanton Grove used. The lining was a soft white fleece, soft on the exposed skin of her neck and wrists, and the whole thing had a nice, comforting weight to it. 

“Oh... thanks,” she said quietly, her hands grabbing it clutching it tighter around her without her brain’s permission.

“No problem... might want to start wearing heavier jackets. Your baby needs you to be warm just as much as you do.” He smiled that stupid, stupid, _annoying_ smile, and Zoey wanted to die.

“Yeah... I will. Of course, Dr. Donnelly.

Thankfully, they sat mostly in silence for the next ten minutes, other than Dr. Donnelly asking about eight minutes into the silence how long she’d been sitting here.

“Twenty minutes,” she’d responded.

Two minutes after that, _finally_ , the bus rolled up. It had begun to get dark outside, and the headlights were bright in Zoey’s eyes, but brighter, and more annoyingly, was the fact that this was _not_ her bus, instead, the bus that would take one in the direction of Stanton Grove.

“That’s me... it was nice, Zoey,” Dr. Donnelly said, hopping to his feet as the bus doors creaked open. “See you in a few weeks, five-thirty on a Tuesday afternoon?”

“I’m surprised you have your schedule memorized,” Zoey responded, finally coming back with something smart to say after a good fifteen minutes of having nothing sharp to say to shut him down... not that any of her remarks ever seemed to shut him down. Echoing his own words back to him made her feel a little better.

He didn’t respond verbally, but he gave her a smile, turning around in the doorway of the bus, on the first step, to flash it to her, a bit of a smirk and a bit of a grin but mostly... something indiscernible. Whatever it was... her words hadn’t shut him down. Damnit.

The doors of the bus squeaked closed, and she watched him walk back through the windows as the bus exhaled and chugged forward... it was only when the bright red tail lights had turned at the next block that she realized that the comfortingly heavy heat wrapped around her was his jacket. Shit, she’d forgotten to give it back!

Well... he lived in Stanton Grove. He probably had a million other coats... he could do without this one for six weeks. The real issue was that she would have to bring it home, and Max would see, and he would ask her where she’d gotten a _man’s_ coat...

It was a really, really nice coat. And someone else could find and pick it up... maybe put it to better use than she could. 

When her bus finally rolled up, she took off the coat, missing the heaviness and the bubble of warmth it had provided as soon as she took it off, and left it on the bench, not looking back as she boarded the bus.

That coat would sit there for hours, maybe days... cold, and lonely, on a green bus stop bench outside Frank Lezzaro’s Gold & Pawn. Without a warm body to wrap around, the cold would get into the fleece, and it would be alone.

Zoey had done something worse than forget to give Dr. Donnelly his coat back... she had left it there. Like it was nothing... like the gesture hadn’t meant everything to her.

It wasn’t exactly like she could explain her home life to him... it wasn’t exactly like he had even meant to leave it with her. And she couldn’t be expected to give his coat back, she was a busy woman. Maybe he’d even take the bus again tomorrow, and find the coat... 

Zoey did her best to convince herself that what she had done was fine- because it _was_ , but she couldn’t shake a feeling of guilt pooling in her gut. For what? She hated that man... she hated him and his dumb smile and the dumb way he moved and his dumb, tall lanky body. 

She watched the bench and the coat, discarded and alone, from the window, as they slowly rolled away from it, as it slowly became smaller and smaller and eventually disappeared as they turned right by Skeld Loans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🥺🥺 comment..?


	9. you will (have) to (always) be mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey is greeted at home by an upset and newly unemployed husband, and ends up accidentally revealing her ‘condition’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so abuse/violence tw on this chapter this is not a fun chapter. like at all.

Zoey wasn’t in the mood for more emotional turmoil after leaving that poor coat at the bus stop, but the world didn’t quit moving, even if you fell to your knees and begged it to pause, just for a moment. Some people had happy lives to get on with, and it just happened that her life was always on a collision course with everything else, everything all happy and shiny around here, while she was sitting in this bubble of darkness and twistiness, everything in here happening at unpredictable rates, floating around in a twisting maelstrom, with her at the center, just waiting for something to strike her.

This day, though it seemed to drag on and on and on, was still not over. She was standing at the center of her storm, and Mo and Autumn giving her a talking to had clipped her, Dr. Donnelly at the bus station and singing had given her a decent whack in her side, it was all small potatoes compared to what was about to hit her, right across the face, leaving her with a nosebleed and crying.

Literally.

Because when she’d gotten home, she busied herself making dinner for herself- just some frozen chicken and pasta that she’d picked up some place but couldn’t quite remember where- she just tossed it in the microwave, she was just finally taking off her shoes and starting to make her way to the bedroom to get into some different clothes, when she heard the front door open and her heart sank.

The door slammed closed and a pair of feet stomped up the stairs.... so she wasn’t dealing with Max in the happiest of moods, and she was _just_ getting to the part where she could relax on the couch with her pasta and maybe watch some Entertainment Tonight.

“Max?” Zoey called, as softly as she could without yelling but also loud enough to be heard across the house, as she gave up and turned back around in the hallway, almost at her room, almost at a shower, fresh clothes, clean hair.

She heard angry grunts in response, and angry shoes clomping around, as she made her way to the living room as quickly as she could.

“Max, honey, why are you home so early on a Tuesday?” Zoey asked, scared of the answer, and trying not to let on how scared she was and how much she was shaking. 

“Well, thanks to my asshole of a foreman, I’m going to be home a lot. That fucking hothead tells me I’m late one too many times and fires me... I told him where he could shove his stupid toolbox. Doesn’t matter... I hadn’t wanted that job, anyway. Fucking sucked, thanks to him.”

Max had been different when she had first married him. Over the five years that they had been married, he had gone from a musician with ambition, drive, a charming smile and personality, to someone who hardened up when he realized he was only an _almost_ good musician. It had happened gradually over the years, but for Zoey, she could barely remember the in between... just the ‘good’ Max and this new Max, one who told foremen to shove toolboxes up their asses and cursed like a sailor. He would have complained plenty, ‘good’ Max, he was always a complainer, but... it had expanded. It had just expanded on stuff that was already there... but at the time was minimal enough so that Zoey didn’t care.

Now, she wished she could go back in time, shake her former self, and tell her to _run_.

“Oh, god... Max, not again,” Zoey said. She could not stifle her personality and be plastic and adoring, it was apparent... he had lost his job, she couldn’t hold him and tell him it was okay when it was his fault.

And now what would happen with the baby? What would happen with the house that still had a mortgage, the utilities, the groceries? He would be home all day, which would mean he would eat more, drink more, grocery costs would go up, and Zoey would be the one to bear it. Hiding money seemed frivolous now... and it was all thanks to Max, who, despite the fact that she could get up close before or after five in the morning, couldn’t seem to hold down one job.

“That loser called me arrogant. Arrogant! Bet he’s still salty after high school and he’s been waiting all this time to stick it to me... well, I’ll show him.”

“Max, I... I’m sorry..” Zoey said quietly, deciding as Max’s mood swung up dangerously, his gestures and movements turning different, like how her salvia would go warm before she threw up, the safer route would be to stoke his ego and hope for the best.

“There will be no feeling sorry for me... I am _celebrating!_ Max announced, heading into the kitchen to grab a Bud Lite out of the fridge, leaving Zoey standing there, her knees shaking. “Course, would’ve been nice if my good for nothing wife had bothered to make me dinner..”

“Oh, Max, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be home so I just thought-“ Zoey followed him into the kitchen, spotting the time left on the microwave, which made her feel like crying. 

“Whatever, how the hell did we do today, since you’re gonna be providing for us from here on out?” Max growled, popping the tab on the can and taking a swig, looking at Zoey with a dangerously expectant look as she rifled through her dress pocket for the money she’d made that day.

It had been a very slow day, even for a Tuesday, and she’d only hidden five dollars, under a loose floor panel under the bed, that day, but the amount was... not good. Not for the way Max was acting.

“You must be fucking kidding me... that’s _it?!_ “ Zoey saw him coming closer, closing her in- the wall was positioned behind her, she realized, which was just _great..._... she subtly moved her feet so her backing up would go out the doorway of the kitchen, giving her a sight chance of ducking anything that came her way.

“It was a slow day, Max..”

“Then move a little faster... where the hell is my kiss?” 

Zoey nearly cringed, not wanting to get that close to Max while he was this volatile, but there was no getting out of it, so she came close enough to give him a small, quick peck on the cheek, which was not good enough, evidently, as he roughly forced her to kiss him on the lips, tasting horribly of beer.

“Kiss me like you _fucking_ mean it!” He shouted, his breath leaving goosebumps and a shudder in it’s wake, and Zoey could not bring herself to comply, shrinking away as much as she could.

“Max, I really don’t feel well...” She felt her way to the refrigerator, keeping her eyes as close to Max without looking him in the eye as she could, and found the leftovers from the night before, and half of a leftover pie she’d stuck in her purse as she left this night, and set them on the counter, beginning to unwrap them, hands shaking.

“You feel all right to me. Come and make me feel better, like you are fucking _supposed_ to, I have had a bad day!”

Not that it mattered if _Zoey_ ever had a bad day...

Zoey shrunk away further, instinctively moving away from the leftovers and more towards the doorway, and she saw the look on his face when he realized she wasn’t going to kiss her and knew she’d done something horribly wrong.

“Let me make you something for dinner, honey, I still have some of that leftover chicken-“

“You don’t think I can’t _see_ this?!” Max shouted, big work boots stomping closer, closing in on her, Zoey only able to fall back so much, out of the kitchen and onto the short area between the living room, the hallway, and the stairs... she was acutely aware of how bad it would be if she took a tumble.

“Max, honey, I-“ Zoey was growing more panicked, searching desperately for an out, knowing now that she’d dug her own grave. She could’ve just let him have her and she wouldn’t be this scared right now, heart beating so loud she was afraid he could hear it. She could have just let him have what he wanted, but she had had to listen to Mo and Autumn.

“You what?”

“I... I...” Zoey scrambled for words, so terrified now she couldn’t even fucking speak, her stupid body betraying her. “You had a bad day, and I brought home pie from today, it’ll make you feel better-“

“I am not _fucking hungry!_ ” He shouted, taking the leftovers from the counter and throwing them at her. The pie whizzed past her, landing by the door, but the chicken managed to hit her in the arm, scraping her with the sharp tin foil she’d half unwrapped. She whimpered a tiny bit and recoiled from the hurt, but didn’t show pain further than that. It was damage control time now, all thanks to her.

“Max, honey, please calm down...” She grabbed his arm, looking up to him desperately. The fear in her eyes would either help her or hurt her, but she didn’t know which or what, or possess the ability to control it anymore.

“Calm down?! Oh, Zoey, I’ll show you calm.”

He strong-armed her, and Zoey tried to fall to the ground so that he would miss her with the upcoming hit, but he managed to give her a good slap to the face and let go of her arm.

Zoey, recoiling from the shock and the explosion of pain across her sinuses, stumbled, and found herself falling down the stairs.

Somehow, she didn’t know how, she caught herself on a middle step and managed not to crack her head open, and scream a final plea- “Max, I’m pregnant!”

As she rested her head against the door, half curled up next to the chicken and tin foil, cradling her side, too hurt to do much else, she dared to look up, seeing that Max’s blind rage had turned into something completely different... something unreadable.

And then it hit her, almost as hard as the fall had hit her... _she had told him._

She had had more time in which to tell him... for which for him to be blissfully unawares. And now... oh god... _what would he do to her?_

Zoey looked away from him and mentally assessed the damage without actually moving much... her side hurt, that was where she had hit the stairs and slipped down the rest of the way, her arm was still bleeding, though it hadn’t been a huge cut, her sinuses were burning and she could feel blood falling from her nose, and her left arm, the one on the side she’d landed on, ached angrily. 

“What?” Max finally asked, voice a lot softer... but that could be dangerous. Zoey allowed her eyes to flicker back up to him, but she didn’t respond.

“When the _hell_ were you planning on telling me?” He continued. So far, the dangerous movements were gone, though she flinched when he raised his hand... just to rake through his own hair.

“I was waiting for a good time...” Zoey said, voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t keep looking at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, so she stared down at her bleeding arm.

“Some timing you have.”

“I know... I’m so sorry, Max.”

He was silent for another long moment, and Zoey still didn’t look up, but then heard him walking down the stairs... she braced herself for a good kick to the face or something.

Instead, he knelt down and helped her up. “Well, that explains why you’ve been so tired all the time... come on, let’s sit, butterball.” He pulled her up the stairs and sat her on her end of the couch, and she sat in dumbfounded silence as he went to the kitchen, got her a paper towel and an ice pack. 

“You know it was an accident, huh?”

“Yeah... an accident. I’m sorry.” She took the ice pack and paper towel and set to wiping up the blood from her nose, and set the ice pack gingerly on her left hip.

“Well... how you like that? A little Max Jr. The legend will live on.”

Zoey still couldn’t bring herself to look at him, instead focusing her eyes on the brown carpet and nodding mutely.

“Little Max Jr. with my eyes and hair and smoking looks... now, wait. Oh, god, what if you start loving this baby more than you?”

“What? Max... you’re jealous... of a _baby?_ ”

Now this... was Max. He _totally would_ be jealous of a baby... he _would._ And that didn’t scare the shit out of her at all.

_What Max might do to a baby he was jealous of..._

“I know how it happens... baby comes along and suddenly the wife doesn’t want anything to do with the daddy anymore... I’ll be cast aside for some little pink thing. And I’m not jealous... just talking it out. Making sure. I’m above jealousy, don’t you know.”

He sat down next to her and pressed a long kiss to her cheek, and Zoey still stared at the ground, barely able to breathe, let alone turn her head to look at him. She could almost see his frown in her head when she didn’t turn to him, though, and he rested his chin on her shoulder, digging into the space between bones painfully. 

“Course I’m not jealous of a baby... I think I just need you to make me a promise. That you won’t love this baby more than you love me.”

“Oh... oh, okay.” _Whatever made it so that he didn’t throw anything or hit her again._

“You need to say that you promise.”

“I said okay... do I need to make a pinky promise?”

“I’m still a little mad at you, Zoey...” he warned her, voice growing dark for a moment. “Look me in the eye and tell me you _promise._ ”

He was talking about this like he was asking her to promise something actually big... like promising him she would help him with his feelings or promising him she would marry him.

But... she wasn’t exactly in the mood to get slapped across the face again.

She turned her head, thankfully managing to shrug his chin out of her skin when she did that, and looked up into his brown eyes... full of... something. Whatever it was, it sure as heck was not love.

“I... I promise, Max, that I will never love this baby more than you.”

He kissed her cheek again. “See, now that wasn’t so hard.. it’s you and me first. Just the way it’s always been. Remember? Remember... remember my clean shave, back when we were just kids?”

“Yeah... mhm.”

“I had my six string, and of course you had your own thing... although I can’t remember what it was.”

The music started as soon as he finished his sentence, and instead of speaking, he sung... he sung his own praises.

_I wrote you love songs_

_And you liked that sad one_

_So I played all the time_

_What was that one line?_

_Something about sunshine_

_I sang it every night_ he sang, staring at her. She couldn’t remove her eyes from his face, scared of what might connect with her face if she did. Another song... just made her day better.

_Where the sun don't shine..._

“Nah, that can’t be it,” he said to himself, grabbing his guitar from its spot leaned against the couch on Zoey’s side, nearly smacking her in the face with it as he played the first few chords of that song.

“When the sun won't shine... huh. What was it, baby?”

Zoey cleared her throat and sang the line quietly.

“Till the sun don't shine... you will still be mine.” She didn’t care singing very loudly, scared to upset whatever unstable equilibrium they had going on. The more stability, the less hitting and yelling and possible fractured bones. She hadn’t broken anything yet... yet.

“That’s it!”

_Man what a world we're in_

_So much is happening_

_And mostly to me._

He was the definition of braggadocio... and he was loud and crude and crass and disgusting... but where would she go? As he played his guitar loudly (the one good thing he was good at) she let her eyes flicker down to his legs, to the couch cushions... remembering how there was now two hundred dollars in the cushion he was sitting on.

_We've come such a long way_

_Don't turn it back now babe_

_You're my family..._

“Now promise me.” She looked back up at him, to see his pointed, dark look.

“Till the end of time... these are ties that bind... now sing it, honey.”

Zoey couldn’t make words out for a second, almost feeling the weight of chains on her wrists, mouthing but no sound coming out, until finally, she sputtered out silently, “Till the sun don't shine..”

“You will still be mine,” the two of them sang together. Zoey hated the way that they sounded together, that they harmonized well... it was the only time in their relationship there was harmony.

“Mine, mine... mine,” Max finished, strumming the last few notes. They sat on the couch silently for a moment as the guitar faded into silence, and then he set it back down on the floor, leaning it against the couch. The strings hummed a bit, quietly, from the jostling.

Without another word, he stood and picked Zoey up, holding her over his shoulder, and she didn’t even bother protesting or fighting, just let him scoop her up and take her to the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love zoey but also i unfortunately also enjoy hurting her. 👉👈


	10. a hard place to fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autumn gets set up on a date with a mysterious dating app user with the best username ever, and they all gripe about light tippers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> due to a large amount of comments, i have changed the relationship tags so that zoey/max is the second relationship tag, and disabled anonymous comments. if you would like to be mad at me, please use your account, and my pronouns are they/them, not she/her

Zoey didn’t mention to Mo or Autumn at work what had happened with Max the previous night, and for a few days, everything seemed to whirl by silently, blissfully... days at work, plates and pies and Max... for a few days, she could almost sit back and watch herself go through the motions and perform, even if she was still rattled and scared and moved a little slower. She couldn’t tell if the baby had been hurt by the fall... but she couldn’t bring herself to schedule an appointment with Dr. Donnelly to find out.

After the lunch rush, she hid in a corner of the spice cabinet and counted her tips... only twenty dollars. And it hadn’t even been a slow lunch rush.

Mo came in, obviously with the same idea, and took his tips out of his cleavage, counting the bills deftly and quickly.

“How’d you do?” He asked, not looking up from his money.

“Not great... between ‘Oh, I’ll get you next time,’ and ‘Isn’t the tip included in the tab?’, not particularly great. Maybe I’ll pick up a few more shifts.” Like this wasn’t already almost more than she could handle.

“You must be nuts... you work more than hard enough already.”

Autumn too, came into the cabinet to count her tips, removing them from her pocket and counting slowly. “Damnit,” she whispered to herself.

“You, too?” Zoey asked, still not looking up.

“Yeah, me too... that was a busy lunch, right? I’m not hallucinating that?”

“Yeah, this was so not a good lunch. Busy, yeah, good tippers, no,” Mo chimed in. “Hey... what’s this doing here?”

Zoey finally looked up, to see Mo kneeling down to one of the wire shelves, and...

“You can’t really write your baby a letter on the spice rack in an unopened book, Zoey,” Mo said, holding up the book like it was a silver bullet in a murder case. 

“Ooh, busteddddd,” Autumn added.

“I’m... getting to it,” Zoey sputtered. “Relax, it’ll happen.”

Mo studied her with a certain look on his face... oh, damnit, he was onto her. “You okay?”

Autumn’s phone dinged with a notification, and Autumn pulled it off the top shelf, off of some bags of powdered sugar and sprinkles, studying her screen and then getting a panicked look.

“Are _you_ okay, Autumn?” Zoey asked.

“Oh god, oh god, ohhhhh goddd...”

“What is it?” Mo asked.

“Oh god... mildly having a panic attack... someone responded to my dating profile.”

Instantly, Zoey and Mo were at her sides, flanking her and looking over her shoulder at her screen as she read the response.

“He calls himself TobinTheTankEngine, he’s thirty two, like me...”

“He has all his hair, kind smiles-“ Mo added. “Do we think Tank Engine is a reference to the size of his penis?”

“Mo, hush up, let the girl be romantic,” Zoey quickly shut him up. “He loves hacking, stand up comedy, house music, and musical theatre,” Zoey finished.

“Seems like a nice enough guy, though beware of the house music,” Mo gave his official assessment, already loosing interest and starting to drift back to the baby book. It was in Zoey’s best interest to keep Mo interested...

“You should text him back... ask him for a date.”

“Yeah... nice date, go to some nice restaurant and scope him out and text me if you need backup.. now Zoey, about this book...”

“Okay, I just asked him to meet me at the Italian place for a five minute date tonight... how’s that?” Autumn interrupted.

“You _what?_ “ Mo exclaimed, suddenly quite interested again. He set the book down on the counter and hurried to Autumn’s side to look at her phone again.

“Autumn, honey, five minutes? What are you going to get done in five minutes?”

“Well, you can learn a lot about a person in five minutes... like... if they’re a good person or not. If they eat their Oreos correctly or not... if they are as kind as they say... and if his smile is really that good...”

“That’s five minutes, you can’t judge someone in five minutes. Some men, you can’t judge in a whole two hour date, you have to wait it out, observe for awhile,” Mo said. 

“Well, I think I can... oh, god, this is really happening...”

“Happening? I’d barely call it happening... Autumn, it’s five minutes! What all can you say in five minutes?”

“Plenty! Quit judging me, you’re unhappily married.”

“Well, I wouldn’t divorce Phyllis just because I wasn’t happy,” Mo said, which didn’t make much sense to Zoey... if he was unhappy and Phyllis wasn’t hitting and manipulating and abusing him, he could leave her ass... fucking happy people made no sense.

“This... you can’t judge me. I can’t do this... it took all my will just to ask for five minutes,” Autumn said, standing her ground. “And this way, if it’s a disaster, im home in time for The Great British Baking Show!”

“Are you kidding me? No wonder you’ve never had a boyfriend or anything before,” Mo said.

Autumn’s phone dinged again, and the three of them stared at the response she had gotten.

**TobinTheTankEngine: Sounds good! See you then!! 🍩🥒🏋️♂️**

“A concerning string of emojis? Oh, Autumn, he must be into you,” Zoey said, even as she puzzled over it in her own mind. Maybe he was buff, hence the weight lifting emoji... damn. Here Autumn was... Autumn, who didn’t even _want_ a nice man in her DMs, got one without even really trying, a _buff_ one, at that... what the fuck was Zoey doing?

“I don’t know... oh god, I don’t know,” Autumn said, setting down her phone next to some uncooked pie crust- which was totally unsanitary, and Zoey plucked it from the counter and shoved it back in her pocket, following her to do it as she paced in a small line across the closet sized room.

“I have a date, oh god, oh god, I have a _date_ ,” Autumn cried, like it was a bad thing.

“Autumn, I’m sure it’ll be fine... however. You’re a natural beauty and it’s nice... but you keep your hair in that tight ponytail all the time. Let me let it down, just for the night... please.” Mo gave Zoey a small, pained look, and Zoey just barely nodded. Autumn kept her hair in a _painfully_ tight ponytail, so tight it made Zoey’s brain hurt just looking at it.

“Okay, fine... and a little bit of makeup? Since you’re so good at it? Oh, and Zoey... I know it’s a lot to ask, but... could you make me a pie to give him?”

Something to do with her hands! Sure! “Oh, of course... anything in particular you’re thinking he’d like?”

“Uhh... well... I dunno. What do you think is romantic?”

“Well... dark chocolate... cherries, chocolate ganache, chocolate... whatever it is, I’ll make it special for you... something I’ve never done before... maybe something where there’s all these ingredients and you wouldn’t think they go together, but they do.”

“Oh, Zoey, thank you... you are so kind.” The way Autumn said it, without hesitation, just out of the blue and saying it like she meant it made Zoey feel all watery inside.

“Just doing my job,” Zoey brushed her off, as Mo took a brush out of her purse that had materialized from someplace and began undoing Autumn’s hair.

“Hey, take the beauty salon somewhere else, I’m not doing a Hairy Situations Pie, or a Makeover Day Pie,” Zoey admonished, shooing them off to a corner where Mo could brush Autumn’s hair without causing any stray blonde hairs to fall into her filling.

Zoey, when cooking just for someone, not for a massive amount of people, was able to take her time and think through her steps. As Autumn and Mo filtered in and out, covering the few tables they did have, Zoey stood in that pantry and mixed chocolate and passion fruit and citrus zest and rosemary and basil, and came out with a pie with a fluffy, soft crust, and a gentle filling that would make any good man fall to his feet. 

She remembered what Dr. Donnelly had asked her, _“Does everything that touches your hands taste that good?”_ She hadn’t quite known how to answer at the time, and she still didn’t, but she appreciated the comment a little more at this moment... not because she was allowing herself to feel all warm and fuzzy and gross inside, like mold on a banana, but because it made sense... the pie making business just flowed, for her. 

Sugar, and butter, and flour... she could do whatever measurements she wanted of these ingredients and throw whatever she wanted in the middle, in the crust, too, she was thinking up something with a pineapple and cherry crust for tomorrow’s special pie, _Tropical Fantasies Pie_ or _Summer Get The Hell Out Of Here Pie_ or _Winter’s Antidote Pie_... she was still working on it.

But it didn’t matter. Because whatever she baked into that crust and whatever she baked into the filling... she hadn’t messed up a single pie in a decade or so. Not since she was a little kid, where she’d accidentally burned a pie while baking with her mom... she hadn’t understood at the time, but now she realized that her mom had been forced to go have sex with her dad when he’d come home from work that day, and her mom had told her to keep an eye on the pie, and when it turned golden brown on top, to take it out.

Well, Zoey had tried, but burned her hand trying, and was too small to reach the buttons on the oven to turn it off, so she sat there crying, holding her burnt hand and watching the pie slowly follow suit. 

Her mother had hobbled down the hall, saw Zoey crying, and she’d just picked Zoey up, held her hand under cold running water, and sang a little song, the words of which she couldn’t remember, but it made her feel better. And they had made another pie by the end of the night, and she had gone to bed full and happy, a bandage on her hand. 

Since then, Zoey had been cautious for awhile, but then realized she hadn’t needed to... the ability to make a good pie seemed to run in the family. Once she got her timing and measurements right, everything else had just been a matter of how she wanted it to taste.

Zoey was absolutely a god at pie making, and the only reason she was able to admit it was because she could also admit that it was the one and only thing she was good at, would ever be good at... at least, the only good thing that she would ever be good at.

The pie warmed in the oven, but Zoey turned it off even after her timer went off, not removing it, allowing it to slowly cool with the oven. She wanted to let it get a little crispier on top, while letting the bottom remain softer, so it would fal ap apart on a plate, so that it would be absolutely perfect for Autumn’s little five minute date.

Autumn and Mo came back in near the end of Zoey’s shift, and by then, she’d pulled the pie out of the oven, and it’s as cooling on the counter where she was idling cooling in the margins of her pie book about that tropical getaway pie or whatever the fuck she was going to end up calling it.

“Oh, _Zoey!”_ , Autumn cried happily, touching the top of the crust just a little bit. It had cooked perfectly, predicatably, and the top crust was deliciously flaky. Zoey could imagine what would happen when it was cut into, the rising of steam, the filling gently falling out as it was lifted onto a plate. It was a magical thing that Zoey did with food, and even if she wouldn’t get to see how this pie would succeed, she knew it had a bright future ahead of it.

And hey, maybe, if Autumn came back with a good review, both of the pie and her date, maybe she could make it again, for her next date with Dr. Donnelly. Appointment, she meant... appointment.

The way Dr. Donnelly acted about her pies was truly a thing of mystery... the way _she_ acted about the way _he_ acted about her pies was a thing of even greater mystery. Maybe Autumn’s Great British Baking Show would solve the equation for her, or her own murder mystery podcasts... maybe, then, Zoey would figure out Dr. Donnelly’s code. Maybe then, Zoey would figure out what the fuck it was that made him go absolutely nuts over her pies. Maybe she’d just put a touch too much nutmeg in the pie, or a touch too much cream on top of it... the world would never know.

She gave Autumn a quick kiss on the cheek as she left, holding the pie gingerly, hair let down and pulled back, as a compromise, with a pink bow headband Mo had found in the depths of his Mary Poppins purse, and a light pink lipstick had been dabbed on her lips.

Mo had also put on lipstick, a bright purple hue that made all of his features pop out, but while it was like Mo to dress up for no reason, whenever Mo put on lipstick that bright, something was up.

“Who are you getting all dolled up for, Mo? Phyllis? For the diaper change?” Zoey asked, tilting her head at him.

“Nah... but maybe I’m doing some love finding of my own,” he said mysteriously.

“An affair? Now, Mo, that’s just wrong.”

“Now, it would be wrong to leave Phyllis just because she’s incontinent and I’m unhappy, but it’s not wrong for me to have some of my own fun.” He gave her a teasing pout, and Zoey shook her head.

“You’re certainly a character, Mo, I’ll tell you that.” She said it with a hollowness she didn’t realize before it had come out of her mouth, and then looked away from Mo’s piercing eyes.

“What’s going on with you?”

Maybe it was time to clue them in... and to admit what she was doing. Not just to them... but to herself. All this time with hiding money and not telling even herself why, just deciding that she couldn’t bear to part with her hard earned cash... and maybe now she could admit it to more than just... nobody.

“You all know about that pie contest in Springfield, right?” She said softly.

Autumn was standing by the door, still holding the pie, but watching her intently. “I keep forgetting to tell you about it... I’m glad you found out.”

“Yeah, well...” Zoey took a deep breath. “I’m going to win it, and then... I’m gonna take that prize money and...”

“You’re gonna leave Max,” Mo said incredulously, softly, like saying it too loud would make Zoey change her mind.

Zoey herself just... nodded. She could barely even believe she had just let the world know... let herself in to the reality. She was allowing her fantasies to start becoming _plans._

“Zoey... I’m so proud of you..” Autumn whispered.

“That is the first time you’ve made sense in a long, long time, Zo,” Mo breathed.

“I’m gonna win, and then I’m gonna run away from here,” Zoey said, a declaration not just to Autumn and Mo, but to herself.

“You don’t have to run away from here to leave him...” Mo said softly.

“Yeah, but... then he could find me. Stalk me... hurt me and the baby.” 

“Well, then... go make yourself someone, Zoey. Go buy a building somewhere, call it Zoey’s Pie Paradise, and sell the best pies in the world.”

“Maybe I will.”

“TobinTheTankEngine says he’s going to need an hour, because his mom is making him play Trivial Pursuit... so... I get to fantasize with you two,” Autumn said. Zoey came over to her just to take the pie away, putting it back into the still warm oven to keep it a little hot.

“Imagine it... tucked away on a street corner, you would never know it was there except for word of mouth,” Zoey began, still barely above a whisper. “I think I’ll make a pie right now... and it’ll be the star pie of the shop. Just... a Dreams Pie. Call it Zoey’s Pie Dreams... I think it’ll have just the softest crust, so soft you can barely call it a crust and it just collapses into the pie...”

She took the flour off the shelf and spread out some on the counter, to start her dough on. “Dreams Come True Pie... make a wish.”

Zoey blew a tiny bit of flour, and it probably just landed on all the spices around, but she didn’t care. Mo and Autumn sighed.

Zoey started the song, barely realizing the music had begun before she was singing. This time, rather than resent the music, she embraced it, letting herself sink into the song as she started her dough.

 _Sugar, butter, flour..._ Zoey sang. Just think of it... soft clouds of homemade whipped cream, a shop with pink walls, a 50s style counter, windows to view the pies from, a huge kitchen in the back, not just a walk in closet and the back of a line kitchen to make her pies in, tall tables with stools and blue and pink and yellow china to serve the pies on.

_Sometimes I still see her_

_My mother, the dreamer_

_She'd say, “Nothing's impossible, child”_

Times Are Tough For Dreamers Pie... My Mother The Dreamer Pie. She was going to make this strawberries and passion fruit and pomegranate and dragonfruit, and that homemade whipped cream, cherry flavored, mixed with a Swiss merengue of lemons and blackberries on top of a thin, flaky crust. She was going to bake tiny bits of raspberries into this crust.

Zoey was singing on her own, but was joined in the next line with Mo and Autumn, both singing in a similar hushed tone, like if they sang too loudly, they would interrupt the gentle, light energy in the room.

_A dream needs believing_

_To taste like the real thing_

_Like some stranger you recognize_

_So pure, so electric_

_So sure, so connected_

_To those little believers inside_

_May we all be so lucky,_ the three sang together. Zoey finished rolling the crust and gently draped it over the pie tin, and pressed it in with equal care. She turned back on the oven and placed the crust in there, on the rack above the pie she’d made for Autumn, a pie she had decided to call Five Fleeting Minutes Pie. It was going on the menu in a few days, she decided.

_But dreams are elusive_

_The kind we've gotten used to_

_Is nothing I can feel_ Zoey sung.

 _Nothing I can hold,_ sang Mo.

 _Nothing I can have_ , added Autumn.

 _Nothing that I know_ , Zoey added another.

Dreams were so... abstract. It felt like trying to hold sand in your hands to hold them... but now her dreams and fantasies... she was letting them become more real. Tactile. She let herself realize, just then, that her dreams were well within reach.

 _Dreams come and they go_ , the three decided.

 _But hold them and keep them_ Zoey added, the other two chorusing, _But hold them and keep them._

_And know that you need them_

_And know that you need them_

_When your breaking point's all that_

_You have_

_A dream is a soft place to land._

Zoey sang the last few lines alone, as time passed suddenly, mixing up her filling, pouring it gently into her crust, and then handing Autumn her re-warmed pie as she floated out. Mo followed in her wake, leaving Zoey alone to write down the recipes for Five Fleeting Minutes Pie and My Mother’s Dreams Pie.

_May we all be_

_So lucky..._

_Sugar, butter... flour._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen if the one and only thing that my fic (that will be 100k upon completion) accomplishes is that it makes y’all tip your servers really really well then im more than okay with that.
> 
> wear your seatbelt, tip your servers, and don’t be shy, send hate comments with your account 🙃


	11. the filling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autumn declares that her date with TobinTheTankEngine was terrible, and Zoey has a question and a concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kindaaa a filler chapter! necessary stuff happens but nothing particularly substantial, so a filler chapter. so uh.... enjoy uwu

“So how was that date, Autumn?”

“Absolutely horrible, don’t ask me any more questions!” Autumn called, speed walking through the kitchen to the back to get changed into her uniform.

It was early but not bright in the morning, and Zoey had only just gotten to work ten minutes ago, and Autumn had just arrived, looking stressed and upset. 

Zoey was elbow deep in the crust for Five Fleeting Minutes Pie, having decided to serve it today and push the newly christened If You Like Piña Coladas Pie to tomorrow, and not even Mo or Eddy had arrived yet, and Autumn didn’t usually get here this early.

So whatever had happened on the date... a lot had happened in five minutes.

Autumn arrived back in the kitchen, tugging at her underwear as she walked in. “Okay, what can I do to help?”

“Uhh... wrap silverware, I guess? Do whatever you’d normally do if you got here this early, but... it’s really early. We don’t open for two hours,” Zoey suggested slowly.

“Yeah, I know that, it’s probably too early to prep any food stuff, and I worked the closing shift last night and I already wrapped silverware, so uh...”

“You worked the closing shift? Weren’t you on a date?”

“It was a five minute date, and then Kayleigh needed to go see her dying grandmother, and I was just getting home, so it worked out okay. I ended up working the shift, yeah. Wrapped silverware, disinfected menus... the whole bit. So good news for Morning Autumn... want some coffee? One thing I _am_ good at.” Autumn was pacing around the kitchen as she spoke, sounding a little jittery... she had probably already had coffee. Or Red Bull. Or, possibly, Autumn had been known to do both.

“Okay, Autumn, you’re going to have to tell me what happened,” Zoey said seriously, and as soon as she’d placed a few more crusts in the oven, she turned to Autumn and put a hand on her hip. “You know that Mo’s gonna get the truth out of you no matter what you do, so you might as well tell me now. You’re here early, after all.”

“Coffee? Do you want coffee, Zoey?”

Zoey sighed. “Fine, knock yourself out... but you don’t need to have any more. You look like you’re well on your way to passing out from caffeine intake.”

“I don’t usually get up this early, but, well, duty calls!”

“And you don’t usually work a long shift, take an hour or two off, and then work the closing shift. That kind of work exhausts a person, you’re not really supposed to get up at three in the morning the next day.”

“You’re a hypocrite... but also, I never really went to sleep... I think. I dozed during The Great British Baking Show, and then the next thing I know, I’m in my car coming here.” Autumn shrugged at the end of her words, and then busied herself with the coffee machine. Zoey was busy with pie crusts, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t give Autumn sideways look and judging questions.

“What the hell, Autumn? How could a five minute date screw you up that much?”

“Look, I’ll tell you later, alright?”

“No, nuh-uh, you showed up to work at three in the morning, hyped up on a near fatal amount of caffeine, so now you’re going to tell me what’s wrong with you and TobinTheTankEngine.”

“I most certainly will not... ooh, let me put the name of the day’s pie on the board, I always come in too late to do that and I want to do it. What’s the pie?”

“Oh, it’s that Five Fleeting Minutes Pie, I pushed the If You Like Piña Coladas Pie to tomorrow.”

“Oh, goody, you’re finally exacting that tropical pie you’ve been planning for days? The one with the fruit in the crust? Mmmmmm. And Five Fleeting Minutes is good, but... ugh, that date _sucked_ ,” Autumn griped, bounding with entirely too much energy to the counter, where she, being too short to reach the chalkboard, climbed up on the counter that people _ate on_ and scrawled it from there.

Zoey was tired, but she was too tired to be sleepy, and she was used to tired, she had been getting up at this hour for years. This wasn’t anything new, and at this point, she barely even needed coffee to get through it... just some cold water splashed on her face, if she could get into the ice maker quietly enough, an ice cube broken in half and then held over her eyelids for about ten seconds, and then after that she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep if she wanted to.

It was good that there were so many places in town that opened around five, because it meant the bus had just started running when she got on it, and if the bus driver was awake enough, she’d reach the diner in ample time. If she dared get up at four, or take an hour to finagle getting Max off from on top of her, she ran the risk of coming in after Eddy and Mo and Autumn, which was never good, and didn’t give her much time to get the pies ready.

“Alright, coffee for you, something to do with my hands for me,” Autumn said, coming back over and fiddling with the coffeemaker for a moment, giving it a good whack with the heel of her hand, and that seemed to make it start up, rattling to make some coffee. Maybe if the owners put any money at all into this stupid diner, they would have a coffeemaker that didn’t require being physically abused to do it’s job.

“Maybe when you’re done with that, I can show you how I make the crust for the Apple Like Your Mama Made It Pie? Since it’s just a simple crust, and then you can do that and it takes something off my workload...”

“Oh, yeah, sure! I’d love to! Just tell me the ingredients.”

“It doesn’t work like that... you have to tell me what happened or I won’t show you.”

Autumn plucked Zoey’s unicorn book from off the counter with a devilish smirk. “Checkmate. Now I can just check your book for the recipe, but then, of course, I run the risk of doing it wrong and not with enough love, and then you’ll be serving substandard pies...”

“Oh, my lord, fine, Autumn,” Zoey sighed. She didn’t know why she tried... she was a tired old pregnant woman and Mo would get the truth out of her without much effort. She might as well show Autumn the crust so that she had fewer pies she had to make herself.

“Alriiight, and here’s your coffee,” Autumn said, handing Zoey a steaming mug. She’d put just the amount of creamer and sugar she knew Zoey liked into it, and would usually wistfully talk about how one day she wanted to be a barista, not just someone who knew how much creamer and sugar to put into Zoey Richman’s mug, someone working with syrups and ice and fancy machines and whipped cream.

“Ugh, thanks,” Zoey said, taking a break from the pies to lean against the counter and hold the mug delicately, blowing on it gently. “Okay, you know the drill. Gather the ingredients before you do anything else... sugar, butter, flour..”

“I’ll follow the ingredients list in your book, you just tell me what to do, you look exhausted,” Autumn said, hurrying to go find everything she needed, and of course not turning around to see that all of the ingredients were already right behind Zoey on the counter. 

________________

Autumn didn’t mention anything with the word ‘date’ or ‘TobinTheTankEngine’ to Mo when he got there, especially after Eddy arrived right on Mo’s heels, and Zoey was too tired and focused to do much else but just sigh and busy herself with the stupid pies.

The early breakfast crowd came and went, and Zoey’s pie was, as usual, a smash hit, and soon, the ‘regular’ breakfast crowd came in. The people in what was just barely not pajamas, the people who got up at eight and were stopping at a diner they heard got good reviews on their way somewhere else, since the diner was in a pretty good middle point between Atlanta, Macon, and Savannah, as middle as it could be, the people with friends getting early brunch on a weekday, and the people who didn’t start work until lunchtime or later and who were catching breakfast at a tried and true favorite with good pie. 

It was very busy for a Tuesday lunch rush, which was odd, but business could fluctuate around this time, seeing as the town’s one and only claim to fame, an old car show, was happening two weeks from now, and did it matter why they had a full house at nine in the morning? No, it mattered that they paid their tips and that Zoey put a goddamn pep in her step and served them.

Throwing up was reserved for in between tables, only three times that morning, and one time peeing, and at the end of breakfast, she came away with a healthy hundred dollars in tips and a sweaty brow.

Mo saw her struggling a tiny bit after the rush was over, or maybe the pained look on her face, so she grabbed her arm in the middle of taking drink orders on a table of late breakfast stragglers.

“You are exhausted... take a rest,” Mo ordered, pulling her into the back of the kitchen.

“Mo, I can handle myself, why don’t you chill out? Just because I’m...” she lowered her voice, “Pregnant... doesn’t mean you can baby me.”

“I will not chill out... and you don’t have to be so goddamn secretive about it.”

Zoey eyed Eddy and then looked back at Mo. He sighed.

“Okay, true... but, like, shut the fuck up. Sit back here and drink a bottle of water, goddamnit, and I’ll take over your tables. Now, what were they wanting to drink?”

Zoey sighed, considering fighting Mo on this, but decided that that was probably not a good idea. Mo was bigger and stronger than her, and Zoey was not looking forward to the possibility of Mo causing a scene to make her rest.

“Two sweet teas, a water, and a chocolate milk for the little girl,” Zoey said defeatedly. Mo smiled, nodded, and handed her a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Get off your goddamn feet for an hour,” Mo hissed at her, and then went to go get the table’s drinks.

Zoey sighed and just sunk down by her pie making counter, hoping, praying that Eddy wouldn’t make too big a stink about her being there...

“Don’t you have tables?” Eddy asked her, right on cue. He didn’t look up from the flat top, but she could tell he was, as usual, annoyed.

“Mo’s making me sit.”

Eddy nodded amusedly. “What’d you do to get him to do that?”

“Uh, nothing..” Zoey got to her feet, deciding to stop the conversation in it’s tracks before it got too far. She needed to pee, anyways.

In the bathroom, she was a surprised and worried- a lot worried- when she saw some pinkish blood in her underpants. She kinda wasn’t supposed to have her period during pregnancy... didn’t blood mean she was bleeding the baby out? It was probably from when she’d fallen down the stairs on accident... she had a nice yellowish greenish bruise on her hip from it. It could have jarred the baby enough so that...

She took the number from the doctor’s office she’d scrawled down on a CVS receipt from the bottom of her purse, and even though the phone wasn’t supposed to be used for personal calls, stood by the phone that was bolted to the wall, holding it to her ear as it rang once, twice, thrice...

“You’ve called the office of Dr. Donnelly, OB/GYN, this is Sarah, how can I help you?” Drawled the voice of a young girl with a _thick_ accent... and Zoey had thought she had a bad accent. This girl was so clearly from Southern Alabama it was almost hard to understand her.

“Uh, yeah, uh, I’m a patient, and I-“

“I’m only supposed to help with scheduling appointments, is this a scheduling thing?”

“Yes? Well... maybe? Uh... could I speak to Dr. Donnelly?” Zoey sighed. This girl was from Southern Alabama and she was probably some sort of intern or the daughter of one of the nurses- or, god forbid, Dr. Donnelly, and Zoey needed to talk to a grownup.

“Sure, hold on one moment, ma’am.”

Zoey waited by the phone, nervously glancing over at Eddy on the line every few seconds, nervously jiggling her knees as she waited. After what was probably only a minute but felt like an hour, she heard an annoying, but familiar voice on the other end of the phone.

“Dr. Donnelly, OB/GYN.”

“Uh, hi, Dr. Donnelly, this is-“

“Zoey! Hello, there. What can I do for you?” Dr. Donelly’s voice had shifted from a very customer service oriented tone to something much more... friendly. Like he was talking to her like a friend he had known for years. This was part of why she did not like him... but what other choice did she have?

“Uh, you say to call if I have any questions or concerns, and I kinda have a question and concern... I’m bleeding a little bit.”

“Oh, really? How much?”

“Not a ton... it’s kinda pinkish, and I’ve been on my feet all morning and I just noticed, but it’s not a ton...”

“Oh, well, you can come in and see me in the morning, then, how does seven AM work?”

“Come in and see you?” Zoey repeated, just making sure she had gotten his words right. Fucking awesome... she was going to get to see him again, much sooner than she wanted to... and she would have been fine with never seeing the man again. “Uhh, yeah, seven works fine for me, I-“

Evidently, she hadn’t been paying attention to Eddy, who had marched from the line over to the back where Zoey was with the phone, and he plucked it out of her hands. “You know, just because her little waitress friend said she could sit down, I don’t think anyone told her she could make personal calls on a company phone... maybe I’m pregnant, but at least I’m still doing my job. Table 23 has an order of two blueberry pie, one special pie, two fried eggs, and a double order of hash browns waiting patiently at the pass. Now, _those_ are my questions and concerns. Bye, bye, now.” With that, Eddy hung up the phone.

“Oh,” was all that Zoey could manage to get out.

“What, you think I would’ve fired you for being pregnant? Do your job and I have no reason to be on your ass. Table 23.” Eddy said simply, like it was obvious.

“Oh... alright.”

Mo probably wasn’t very happy to see Zoey back out on the floor so soon, but Zoey gave him a look of _You had better shut your trap or I’ll shut it for you_ , which Mo could have chosen not to take very seriously, seeing as Zoey was tiny and not very strong, but Mo just shrugged, keeping the table she’d stolen from Zoey, and letting Zoey man the other ones she did have.

But what Mo _did_ do was hand Zoey the tips from the table she had stolen from her. “Big tippers, the lot of them... the little girl even got a five out of her barbie purse. The mommy put the five in her own purse and took an extra five and twenty out of her own that she didn’t already have out... what I’m trying to say is, big tippers, Zocasso.”

“What... Mo, you served that table. I’m not taking your tips, what the hell?”

“You heard me, Zoey, and I’m not in an arguing mood. Take the damn tips... I don’t want for much. You need a little extra cash... all I ask is that you don’t hand it to that deadbeat house sitter you call a husband.”

“He lost his job... and he’s looking for another one.”

Mo gave Zoey a Look, and they both knew the unspoken truth... whenever Max lost a job, it could be weeks before he got another, and even then, the odds of him holding it down longer than two or three paychecks was unlikely. The job for this construction company had been his longest time holding down a job in a long time, five months.

“I’ll... ill put it in the stash... but I don’t want your charity ever again, Mo. You hear me? This is the only charity I’m taking.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Zoey... if I feel like being charitable, by George, I’m going to be charitable. Now shut the fuck up and stick it in your cleaves.”

“Cleaves?”

“Thing One and Thing Two?”

Zoey looked sideways at Mo. “My boobs are so tiny they might as well not exist.” She made a big show out of putting the cash into her side pocket, and gave Mo another Look of _Don’t fuck with me._

Mo shrugged and smiled a little.

“If you’re leaving his ass, you need all the help you can get... I have no doubt that you’ll win that pie contest, but this will help no matter what. Twenty five thousand will get you pretty far, but a little bit here and there certainly can’t hurt, can it?”

“Mo, you, of all people, could leave here... you could leave Phyllis the Incontinent. And yet you don’t... you have the means to, you are strong enough and good enough at making money that you don’t have to be waitressing in Georgia... you could be some big business person in Atlanta, for fuck’s sake!”

“But here’s the thing- I’m not. I’m not going to leave Phyllis just because I have to change her pull-ups,” Mo said gravely. “I am plenty happy the way I am, Zoey... and you aren’t. So you’re leaving... more power to you.”

Zoey was trying to come up with something smart to say when Autumn ran into the back and grabbed the phone, but didn’t dial.

“Autumn?” Zoey asked.

“Oop, got a new table, chit chat time is over,” Mo said, straightening out his skirt and heading for the dining room.

It wasn’t until Mo left that Autumn hissed, “It’s TobinTheTankEngine, Zo, he’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3


	12. (at some point) getting rid of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TobinTheTankEngine appears at the diner, publicly declaring his feelings to an Autumn who would like him to _just go away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3

Mo came back after only about a minute, looking amused. “He’s sitting in my station but says he doesn’t want me as his waitress... he wants a nice young woman he met last night named _Autumn._ He’s committed, and he has potential... and he’s cute, what can I say? I think you should go talk to him, Autumn.”

“Nope, I will not. Our date went absolutely horribly, I will not be going within six feet of that man as long as I live.”

“What happened on the date, then, Autumn?” Zoey asked, genuinely concerned. “Did he hurt you?”

“No... but he took me through the entire medical history of his family. All the way back to the name of the midwife and place- including the exact latitude and longitude, of where his great-great-great-great-great grandmother gave birth to his great-great-great-great grandfather.”

“Okay, oy vey,” Zoey agreed.

“No, you two don’t see it... that’s a committed man, a sweet and very attractive man..” 

“I have known him longer than you have, Mo!” Autumn interrupted.

“Is five minutes much longer than one?”

“ _Yes_ , when you’re sitting with him for even that long you learn all sorts of things...”

“So, he’s laying it all out on the table. That’s sexy... next thing you know he’ll be laying _you_ out on the table,” Mo teased.

“Mo!” 

“All I’m saying is... go talk to him... and opeeennnn up that collar of yours. You’ve got _assets_ , Autumn, don’t waste ‘em.” Mo opened Autumn’s collar without another word, and Autumn protested weakly, but didn’t close the collar back up.

“Well, you two have fun with that, I have actual work to do,” Zoey said, heading out of the kitchen to grab an order and then take the order of a new table that had come in. They were heavy on stragglers today, it seemed.

From her spot over at Table 25, Zoey could see Autumn inch towards TobinTheTankEngine’s table, hesitate, and try to go backwards, but eventually get over to the table. Another plus was the fact that Zoey could hear perfectly what was going on.

“Welcome to Joan’s, what can I get you, sir?” Autumn asked robotically.

“Well, I was kinda hoping on getting you, if you don’t mind...” he said smoothly. He _was_ quite the looker... rich brown skin with warm undertones, thick black hair, and Zoey caught a glimpse of his brown eyes... quite the specimen of a man. He was wearing a cyan, magenta, and yellow striped shirt, with only one stripe per color, making him look like if a Neapolitan ice cream got into a printer. And black jeans, and black sneakers, so at least he knew how to match his clothes.

“I quite mind. What to start with?”

“I’ll have the Classic Breakfast, I’d like my eggs sunny side up, without the yolk, hash browns instead of grits, and sausage instead of bacon. And a Pepsi.”

“Who the hell...” Autumn almost started scolding him about trying to order a Pepsi (as she should), but caught herself and went back to being a very sweet, plastic customer service lady. “Sir, we don’t sell Pepsi here, can I get you a Coke? Even though I know you hate Coke?”

“See, we know so much about each other already... you listened to me talk about how Pepsi is so obviously superior to Coke that it’s not even funny. I can repeat my rant on that, if you’d like..”

“No! God, no... Classic Breakfast, sunny side up except without the yolks, because we _have_ to be heathens here, hash browns instead of grits, sausage. Links or patties? Wait, why do I bother asking? You hate patties.”

“Links are so obviously superior, like I said. See, again! We know so much about each other already, Autumn.”

“I don’t know anything about you,” Autumn said sternly, “And you know nothing about me.”

“Your name is Autumn Eden Smith... you were born and raised in Macon, but you moved here when you were done with high school because your brother lived here, and when your brother left, you stayed here and did your college online, you have a degree in Art History that you have no idea what to do with, and you’ve been waitressing here for three years.”

“Yeah, but that’s basic stuff... I think I know too _much_ about _you_.”

“Well, you should know one more thing, if nothing else... you’re not getting rid of me. I am a man who knows what he wants, and I’m not going to back down so easy... I will wear you down. Not in a creepy way, but... yeah. There will be dating involved, or I’ll eat my hat.”

“Guess you’d better get to hat eating, huh? Will that be your entire order?”

“Oh, what’s the pie of the day?”

“You could just look over at that big, bright chalkboard over there, by the menu,” Autumn said slowly, pointing at the chalkboard, speaking to him like he was about five years old and had no idea what he was doing, “And read what’s written in it. Can you read what’s written on it, Tobin?”

“Yes... oh, Fleeting Five Minutes Pie? Is that not what I had last night, with you? Just Five Fleeting Minutes that I feel is my whole future... you are my my future. We are meant for each other, Autumn.”

“It’s actually the exact same pie that you had last night... my friend works here, she’s the one who made them. Why don’t you bother her? Oh, wait, she’s married... still. Better her than me.”

“No, even if she made pies that good I still want you... she’s married and she isn’t Autumn Eden Smith, girl who has seen every single season of The Great British Baking show. Who could ask for a girl as good as that?”

“No, Tobin, you do not want me. And I do not want you. I will go put this order in for you.” Autumn quickly turned tail and walked away, sashaying a bit, and Zoey couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not.

“She’s not used to dating,” Zoey explained to her table of confused twenty-somethings who were stopped here in the middle of a road trip. “She’ll come around.”

And, unfortunately, Tobin was _extremely_ devoted to Autumn and he wanted her bad enough, it seemed, to burst into song, climbing up onto the table and singing his heart out just to Zoey, ironically. Not that he would ever know.

“Autumn! I will... never let you let me leave I promise I'm not lying, go ahead, ask anybody who has seen me trying... I'm not going!” he declared proudly, stretching his arms out, singing fast. Autumn kept her back turned, but with the way she was fidgeting, the way the tables were all staring at him...

Wait a second. There wasn’t any music...

_He was singing in real life._

“If it seems like I did I'm probably waiting outside, such a stubborn man you'll likely never meet another, and-!” He took a moment to draw in a sharp breath, stomping on the table to fill the silence, “When we have our family dinner you can ask my mother, she's the best, and you’ll learn all about her on our family history test.”

“He is _quite_ the catch,” Mo hissed to her as Zoey quietly took to filling up drinks in the kitchen. Autumn, defeated, had turned around to watch, one hand on her hip, looking annoyed. At least outwardly... now, Zoey, she wouldn’t be into this, but Autumn loved big romantic gestures like this.

“I'm gonna do this right, show you I'm not moving... wherever you go, I won't be far to follow oh, oh... I'm gonna love you so, you’ll learn what I already know.”

He paused for a breath again, clearly put on the spot a bit or inexperienced in singing. 

“I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me!” He sang, much louder than he had been. Autumn cringed.

“You can try, oh, but I, I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me.”

Eddy rang the bell at the pass, and Autumn rushed over, finding the order for TobinTheTankEngine at the pass, which he had probably sped up on to see if he could make him shut up. Autumn basically threw it onto the table, allowing it to clatter, and Mo set down his Coke with a wink. 

“Ready for your _check?_ ” Autumn asked angrily.

Tobin shook his head, and got down from the table... only to jump up onto the nearest table, which was empty, thank god, but silverware clattered and nearly fell as he began to sing again. Hey, even if he was out of breath... he was hot and a good singer.

But before he sang again, he declared, “Not quite... pie for everyone, on me!”

Autumn looked... well, as Max’s mother, god rest her soul, would have put it, _verklempt._ And Zoey was feeling just the same way, just not Jewish enough to say it herself.

“I grew up an only child in a suburb of the city, spent my days alone and my only friend was a stray kitty.... called Sardiiiine. You see, I thought it was hilarious to call a cat a kind of fish,” Tobin sang-explained.

Autumn looked unimpressed, but the diners around them... looked intrigued, and curious, and very very interested in how this was going to go.

“She played hard to get, hissing while she scratched me but what she was trying to say was ‘Tobin! Come and catch me!’ I learned quickly, perseverance stood between a cat and her new best friend, me!”

“Oh my _god_ I will call the police, I swear to god,” Autumn complained... but the way she was looking at Tobin... Zoey could tell that she was impressed, her resolve falling.

“Oh, I'm gonna do this right, show you I'm not moving... wherever you go, I won't be far to follow, oh... oh... I'm gonna love you so, you’ll learn what I already know... I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me!”

“Alright, alright, I love you means blah, blah blah, yadda yadda yadda, now get back to _work!_ Eddy called, slamming the bell at the pass a few times. Zoey realized she’d been standing there watching almost this whole time... but she wasn’t going anywhere until she saw how this played out.

“You can try, oh, but I... I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me... you can try, oh, but I... I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me!”

He finished with a resounding stomp on the table, stretching out his arms again, and after a few silent moments waiting to see if he’d sing anything else, the diner erupted into applause.

Autumn looked first at Mo, then at Zoey, and then at Eddy and the diners... but didn’t run. She stayed standing where she was.

TobinTheTankEngine, or, well, his name was probably Tobin, hopped down from the table and walked up to Autumn, looking quite pleased with himself. “So... did I make myself quite clear?”

“I think you did,” Autumn said, sounding a bit strained. As she should be.

“Will you consider my offer, then, Miss Autumn Eden Smith?”

“What offer..?”

“Another date, perhaps... this one ten minutes long? Or another five minute one, you choose.”

“I don’t know anything about you,” Autumn protested weakly.

“Did I not just sing my heart out to you in front of all these people? But, may I add, I’m a software programmer, I drive a 2012 bright purple Toyota Prius, a hybrid car, the compact version. Oh, and you haven’t gotten me that pie yet, so that’s something I need to know about you.”

“Actually? You haven’t eaten your food yet, so why would I get you your order? Besides, I forgot to ask, do you want whipped cream on your pie?”

“Well, do it however you like, I trust you. However, if you do choose to go the route of whipped cream, may I request it on the side, because if it’s on the top-“

“It makes the crust all soggy and gross,” Autumn finished, without really meaning to. She looked surprised in herself.

“See! We aren’t so different, Autumn. How about, Sunday, at eight?”

“Sunday? Sunday at eight is when the new episode of The Great British Baking Show comes out.”

“Exactly... I have a projector screen in my house. And surround sound. My friend’s a contractor and my other friend is a doctor, who makes piles of money, so it was a joint birthday gift... surround sound, while watching The Great British Baking Show. And I’ll let you slap me, and I’ll cook.”

“Oh... oh wow.”

She looked over at Zoey again, who was in the middle of serving Table 25, but Zoey looked up in time, and nodded at her, giving her a look of _This guy’s a keeper, what the heck, Autumn?_

“Fine. One episode of The Great British Baking Show and then you will never hear from me again.”

“And a slap... did I mention that you get to slap me, Autumn? Women do enjoy to slap me... and then they learn to love me.”

Questionable comments aside... how the hell has Autumn, of all people, stumbled upon such a catch? In this tiny own in Fucking Georgia, no less? How come Autumn had all the luck and Zoey was stuck with deadbeat Max who didn’t even sing anymore, and when he did, generally it was to tell Zoey how much she loved him to to tell Max how much he loved Max.

She did love her husband, _truly._ The only person she could be sarcastic with was herself.

Tobin did settle down and eat his now cold food, and he did hand Zoey two hundred dollars for the entire diner’s pie, and she was busy again, running back and forth to take everyone’s pie orders. People asked if the Five Fleeting Minutes Pie was a reference to that five minute date, and when she affirmed it, suddenly it was almost sold out and Zoey found herself having to make more to prepare for the lunch rush.

When Zoey was heading back into the kitchen to fulfill a drink order while her shells baked, Tobin locked eyes with her and motioned her over to the table.

“What can I get you?” Zoey asked.

“Oh, no I don’t need anything, I’m just tipping you,” he said, starting to pull cash out of his wallet.

“Oh, sir, that’s not necessary-“

“You just served pie to every single table but mine in the diner, and I paid for it, so let me tip you, alright?” He smirked a little... which was not the flavor of smile Zoey usually saw with people insisting to give her money. But when he slid her a hundred dollar bill... she kinda understood the smirk.

“Uh, sir, that’s not-“

“It’s three dollars for a slice of pie. There are sixty people in here, and so I paid a hundred and eighty dollars, and so, if I’m tipping ten percent, that would be eighteen dollars, but fuck percentages because while I am a computer programmer, I hate math, so have a hundred dollar bill.”

“That... this isn’t necessary-“

“You look starved. I know you’re married, and I’m not trying to court you or anything... but you look starved. So buy yourself a pie of your own.”

“How do you know I was the one she was talking about?”

“Because the other person was _not_ a woman, by any stretch of the imagination. Unless they were?”

Zoey laughed a little. “No, that’s Mo. Alright, well, while I do not agree with the decision to give me this much money-“

“Just take it and shut up, alright?”

Zoey smiled to herself all the way through the kitchen, and when she caught Autumn in the bathroom taking her hair out of the ponytail, she smiled wider. “That boy you got there? That boy is a _keeper._ “

“Did he tip you?”

“Oh, yeah... he tipped me _real_ good.”

“Sounds like he gave you a real good somethin’ else, the way you’re talking about him,” Mo teased, coming in to check how his wig was sitting, pulling it back slightly. 

“Mo!” Autumn and Zoey said at the same time.

“What? That’s just how you sound... and if anyone needs to, and should be, having a few of those, it is Zoey Richman.”

“ _Mo._ Stop that.” The idea of Zoey having an affair... that was a really, really crazy idea. She could get caught by Max, and then he would kill her, or make her wish she was dead. And besides, even if Max was a horrible person, she wasn’t so horrible of a person as to cheat on her lawfully wedded husband. So the idea of her having fun with someone else? Enticing, yeah, but an enticing idea for later, when she had divorced his ass and left him for dead back here while she moved somewhere far, far away, with her pies and her baby.

The idea of _her_ having an _affair_... she would have an affair when there wasn’t anyone to be affair-ing... she would have dirty, dirty, _incredible_ sex when she was no longer married... or if she couldn’t get a divorce, she would have dirty, dirty, horrible, incredible affairs, a million and one, with people who wore condoms and didn’t complain that they made them uncomfortable.

But the idea of her having an affair with anyone, an affair while living in the same house or at least in striking range of Max? The very thought!

Zoey would, for sure, wait until she was good and unmarried before having any orgasms with anyone... at all. Since Max didn’t give her any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tobin for all his shit would tip very well. *looks at camera* and so should you!
> 
> also zoey be like: sitting quietly, unaware of the plot coming barreling towards her at 60mph


	13. pretty good (amazing) idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey comes to Dr. Donnelly’s practice for a not-at-all suspiciously early checkup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s here! the reckoning! the rapture! the ‘sex!’

Zoey showed up at Dr. Donnelly’s practice bright and early at six forty five, and there was only one car parked in the parking lot... a silver Toyota Camry. She was looking around, trying to see if there was a parking lot for the personnel that would explain the lack of cars in the front, when the front door opened.

“Zoey! Back again. Come on in!” Dr. Donnelly said, with entirely too much energy for seven in the morning.

She hadn’t been greeted by him at the door before this... but it was probably just because it was early. Nurse Norma probably hadn’t come in yet, they had probably just opened.

Not a single singing woman was sitting in the waiting room, thank god, and he brought her right to the back, to one of those tables with the vinyl and the stirrups, and the ultrasound machine and all that jazz. No Nurse Norma to ask her about ghosts, and no singing, pregnant, Andrew Sisters. It was... quiet.

“Oh, and I brought you a pie... I made it searching through whatever ingredients were in the back of the pantry, stuff I haven’t used in forever. I call them Believe Again Poppy Seed Pocket Pies... mini pies, three of them.” Zoey went into her purse and handed him the white box, tied closed with a simple white string. The way Tobin had acted with Autumn... getting on a table and singing his heart out because he loved her so much... it almost made a person believe in love again. Almost. But Almost Believe Again wasn’t quite as catchy.

“Oh, my goodness, thank you so much... I love your pies so much, you know.”

Zoey gave him a sideways look. “Yeah, I know... you gushed over them an awful lot at the bus station.”

“Well, if you found that unprofessional, I am so, so sorry.” He removed one of the pies from the box and took a bite, and Zoey half expected him to moan with the face he made when he bit into it. “Allow me to be unprofessional again for a moment, because what you do with food is... unearthly. It is so good, holy shit!”

“Alright, well, can we get the examination part going?” Zoey asked, a little annoyed.

“Of course we can! Although... well. You said on the phone that the bleeding was mild, yeah?”

“Yeah, and I didn’t really bleed much more after I called you. Where is everyone?”

“Oh, I came in early to see you. Nobody else is here yet.”

“Huh... is it bad? I’m having a miscarriage, aren’t I?” Why else would he have brought her here so early? She felt a strange feeling wash over her... guilt? Sadness, grief? She hadn’t... this baby... she hadn’t wanted it. Why was she so upset all of a sudden that it was gone?

“Oh, no, of course not! You see, mild bleeding is a perfectly common symptom of early pregnancy. There’s absolutely nothing the matter with you.”

What?

Her shift didn’t start till nine thirty today... she hadn’t needed to get up for a long time. So... she got up at six in the morning, hauled her ass down here... to be told that there was nothing wrong with her?

She laughed. Laughed, an awkward, chortling laugh. “Alright, alright, okay, let me just make sure I have this straight. You made me come all the way down here, all the way down, when my shift doesn’t start for hours, when mild bleeding is a perfectly normal symptom of early pregnancy.”

“Uhh... yeah. Zoey, this isn’t what-“

“What time does the practice usually open? Eight?”

“Nine... thirty,” Dr. Donnelly admitted. Zoey studied him silently for a long moment... she couldn’t piece together what the look on his face meant. She couldn’t understand him... and she didn’t need to understand him.

“Alright, so, uh... what the fuck?!”

“Zoey, let me, uh-“

“No, how about I don’t let you do anything?” Zoey had begun to raise her voice now, thoroughly pissed off. “You drag me down here, you drag your own ass down here, just to tell me that mild bleeding is a perfectly normal symptom of early pregnancy? I had to get up early, walk five blocks to take a bus and then walk another five blocks.... to hear that there is not a damn thing wrong with me?!”

“It... would seem that way, yes.”

“Alright, then.” Zoey got off the stupid, horrible vinyl table. “Goodbye, Dr. Donnelly.”

“Goodbye, Zoey,” he said, and something in his voice... she didn’t know what on Earth it was, but it made her turn around... made her angrier and made her want to reprimand him more, probably.

“I think you are strange. I do not understand you. You... you... you. You’re so..”

“Whatever I’m doing, I’m so sorry, Zoey. I will stop it immediately... whatever it is.” He said it with hand gestures, that, for some reason, made her blood boil.

“You’re doing it again!”

“What? What am I doing?”

Zoey mimed his hand gestures, waving her arms around wildly. “This! This! That nice guy talking thing you do... except you’re not a nice guy! You’re a horrible, horrible person, who made me drag my ass all the way down here when this was a day I get to sleep in. What the hell?! You, you just... fuck. Forget it, just forget it.”

With that, she turned and stomped out the door, and god, she didn’t know what came over her- the realization that she had left her purse there, or something in her soul, her gut, but she turned around, came back in, and kissed him as hard as she possibly could.

For as long as she possibly could.

Dr. Donnelly was the first to break the kiss, but he had kissed her back for a good long while, his hands, infuriatingly, not doing any moving.

“Zoey... Zoey, I...”

“Don’t... I... okay. Enough of that.” With that, she turned and went to the door again.

“No, uh, uh, you can’t do that!” Dr. Donnelly said loudly, rushing to block the door. “You can’t just come in here and kiss me and then walk out like it’s nothing! I want to... go somewhere. Not here. Can I get coffee with you?”

“Doctor Donnelly... I can’t get coffee with you... because, you see... it’s on the list of foods I’m not supposed to eat! You know, the one that _you_ fucking gave me?”

“Oh... oh. Right.”

And Zoey didn’t know why, but she kissed him again, almost slamming him into the door and slamming the door closed in the process, kissing him harder than she had before, now with the ability to press him against the door.

She broke this kiss herself, staring at Dr. Donnelly. “This is a bad idea.”

“A bad idea... yeah. Bad idea. Of course.” He kissed her again, and she reciprocated as hard as she could, hooking a leg around one of his as he flipped them around so that he could press her into the door.

“It is a bad, bad idea, you and I... doing... yeah.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Dr. Donnelly agreed, kissing her fiercely again.

“A very bad idea,” Zoey added breathlessly when they came up for air.

But they just kissed harder.

“Are you married, Dr. Donnelly?” Zoey asked, half accidentally making the question sound... very seductive.

“I am.”

“God, you’re married,” Zoey said, before kissing him again.

Dr. Donnelly hummed into the kiss, and Zoey added some teeth... so there was a little bit more than humming. Especially after she grabbed the collar of his shirt.

“You’ve got a husband, too.”

“You’re my doctor,” Zoey countered.

“You’ve got a baby coming.”

“Well, it’s a bad idea! We established that part already, didn’t we?”

“We did.” He kissed her harder.

“So, let’s just keep kissing until we come to our senses,” Zoey said breathlessly.

And so they did, kissing hard, so hard, and Zoey was being kissed in a way she hadn’t been kissed in years and years and years... she was being kissed with passion, with fervor, with a hunger, like if he didn’t kiss her, he might just die.

Zoey wasn’t one for bad ideas. She wasn’t one for tempting fate, for doing something dangerous, something Max could, and would seriously hurt her over if he found out. He would do more than shove her down the stairs and give her a yellow bruise the size of her hand, he would choke her, or burn her, or... hell, he might be mad enough to hit her over the head with his guitar that he loved so much. He would do that.

The threat of him usually loomed over her like a dark cloud, like a stern warning, if you screw up, he’ll hurt you, and even if you don’t do anything wrong, he can still hurt you.

And now she was really pressing her luck... a fucking affair!

Zoey Rich- _Clarke_ didn’t have affairs... she didn’t do fucking bad things.

But god, this felt good. This felt fucking amazing, it felt glorious.

She had kissed Max hundreds of times, if not hundreds of thousands of times, but never like this. This felt... this felt fucking amazing. This felt like she had never kissed anyone ever before... this felt like amazing. This felt horribly unprofessional, wrong, and dirty, so dirty, and that felt so good.

Zoey guided him to the vinyl examination table, and he pressed her down onto it, kissing her as hard as she could, kissing her like he had never kissed anyone before.

“Mmm,” Zoey hummed, grabbing wherever at Dr. Donnelly she could. His neck, his hair, his lab coat, his shirt, his collar, the top of his jeans, fucking everything.

“God, Dr. Donnelly...”

“Call me Leif.”

“Dr. Donnelly... this is abad idea,” Zoey moaned. Whenever she was really into something- which wasn’t often- her southern drawl came out ten times as strong as it usually did, and now... god, she sounded southern.

“Zoey... this is a bad idea. Are we doing this anyway?”

“God, it’s a horrible idea... a horribly bad idea... but god, I want this, Dr. Donnelly... I want this so bad.”

“I think I can arrange something...” he said, pulling away from her to pull his lab coat off of his body, and Zoey sat up, helping him unbutton his shirt.

He wasn’t ripped or anything... but Zoey would consider him nothing less than absolutely smoking hot.

She hated this man... she hated him so much. He was weird, he weirded her out, he made her feel uncomfortable and stupid and confused and she loved it. Zoey wanted him to take every bit of her, fuck her so hard she couldn’t walk straight for days. And nobody had ever fucked her that hard before... so now would be a good time.

Whatever baby in her uterus had been born out of sex that was horrible, that she had gotten nothing out of.

But now, as Dr. Donnelly entered her, all she could think about was how good she felt now. Whatever baby her and the doctor might make would be beautiful... and hopefully whatever baby she was currently having wouldn’t look like Max.

But it didn’t matter. She hooked her legs around Dr. Donnelly and cried out his name like it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard in her entire life, hooked her ankle and foot around his, feeling amazing in every inch of her body.

“This is a bad idea.“ she breathed, holding him as tight as she could.

“It is a bad idea... and I love it.”

“God, yes, Dr. Donnelly.”

“I need a bad idea... I need it bad. So bad... you have no idea how bad I feel. But... good with you.”

“Let’s have a bad idea together, huh?”

Whatever he did next was so fucking good her _Yes_ was lost to the wind.

_______________

Before that day, Zoey had decided that she had had good sex twice in her life. Once, her first time with Max, when they had been young and he had actually been a good person, and the second time, a few days after her mother died, she had probably been too upset to give a shit what the sex felt like, but whatever it was, it was probably the most recent time she’d had an orgasm... five years ago.

Zoey hadn’t realized how good having orgasms and good sex was until today, when she had had _multiple_ orgasms.

And the building up to those orgasms had felt amazing, too. God... everything felt amazing. Every bone in her body felt amazing, every muscle, every inch of her felt fucking amazing. Fucking _awesome._

“Doctor Donnelly... _damn._ Zoey breathed out.

They had been done for about twenty minutes now, but they had been laying there on that thin examination table that really wasn’t even big enough for one person, together, with Dr. Donnelly- Leif- Dr. Donnelly _he totally seemed like a Leif, and a person weird enough to be a Leif_ , eh was holding her, and she was holding him, and it was awkward, and they were naked and sweaty and the vinyl she’d been so scared of having stick to her skin was sticking to her skin and god, she did not _care._

It had been twenty minutes and it still felt good... she had never had afterglow, she had never felt this good before, during, or after, and now here she was, feeling like some horny twenty something that had only had sex a few times and considered every time better than the last, who said stuff like _tongues battling for dominance_ and _fuck me harder, baby_ and probably had a daddy kink. But she was pretty sure Dr. Donnelly was none of those things... as far as she knew.

Zoey could have laid there forever... but she knew she couldn’t.

“Ugh, what time is it?” She finally whispered, scared she’d upset the good afterglow feeling in the room.

“Not time for you to go yet,” he mumbled, clearly spent... but not spent in the way Max was after five seconds of sex. Spent in a good, happy way, and it was clear that he had felt good... but also that he felt good about how he made her feel god.

“Yeah, but... really, what time?”

“Took off my watch... I don’t know.”

“There a clock in here or something?”

“Nah... there’s only clocks in exam rooms five, three, and one, this is exam room four.”

“Hm, exam room four.” She laughed to herself a little bit.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, lifting his head enough to look at her. She nestled her head back on top of his chest.

“Dunno... just... exam room four. How much have you thought about this, Dr. Donnelly?”

“You can call me Leif... and really, I haven’t... I just felt that exam rooms one, two, and three were too... suspicious, I guess?”

“What exactly were you planning to do? Were you planning on having sex with me this whole time, Dr. Donnelly?”

“No, I wasn’t... I wanted to talk to you. I guess I didn’t really think it through... anyone would have decided I was a horrible person for making you come just for me to tell you that mild bleeding was a perfectly normal symptom of early pregnancy.”

“So, you’re _not_ secretly a pervert?”

“Yeah... I mean, if I’ve made you uncomfortable in any way...”

“Doctor Leif Donnelly, you have made me anything _but_ uncomfortable. You have made me feel amazing for the first time in... many, many years... possibly ever.”

“So, is this a good bad idea?”

“I would say so... I would say this is a pretty good bad idea, Dr. Donnelly.”

“Could we have this bad idea... more than once?”

“Maybe... let me think about it,” Zoey said, smirking at him. “Okay, but I do... I really do need to go... I really do.”

“Mm,” Dr. Donnelly said, pressing a kiss to her neck. Zoey probably shouldn’t have felt as good as she did when he did that to her... not in a sexy way, just... in a way that made her feel seen. Feel like he cared. It felt foreign and weird and... _awesome._ And all it was was a stupid, chaste kiss to her neck that he wouldn’t think twice about.

She let herself have a few more moments, soaking up the warmth, his warmth, the feeling of his body next to hers and this odd feeling of being seen and respected, before forcing herself to sit up, get some paper towels from the dispenser attached to the wall, and try to wipe her thighs off.

“Oh, I have wet wipes under the counter... need me to get them for you?”

“What, you’re that confident that you screwed me so hard that I can’t even bend over? I’m not six months pregnant or anything, I am a grown woman perfectly capable of bending over... but the confidence is nice. Usually I don’t even get _asked_ if it was good.” She bent down and found the wet wipes in a small plastic container, and wiped down the insides of her thighs, her armpits, pretty munch wherever she was pretty sure there was a decently damning smell coming from.

But, unfortunately, that only lasted so long, and she could only give Dr. Donnelly her little naked clean up show for so long... she had to put on her little waitress uniform, her pantyhose that kept her legs from freezing off, that somehow the two of them together had managed not to tear in their rush to get their clothes off, which was more than Max could say for himself.

“I’m gonna go now... I’ve got an appointment in five weeks.”

“You could show up sooner, if you’d like, Mrs. Richman.”

“Well, I’m having far _worse_ mild bleeding now, I think... I think my hymen might’ve burst for the first time.”

“God, the sex you’ve been having is that bad?”

“Not my fault, ask my husband.” _But actually, please don’t, because he’d probably put my head through a wall._

“Alright, well, maybe I need to examine you one last time to make sure that your hymen is okay and that there’s no... excessive vaginal bleeding.”

“Mhm, and didn’t I just clean myself up? And get all dressed all over again?” Zoey asked.

“Well, you could just take off your pantyhose... it’s a simple exam. I just need to get my face pretty close to your vaginal opening, that’s all.”

Zoey couldn’t resist, stripping off her pantyhose as fast as she could and sitting down on that examination table, her knees _really_ far apart.

And Dr. Donnelly _examined her_ , all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i vibe over here with my basically-smut.
> 
> next time: zoey acknowledges that leif p much literally fucked her brains out


	14. the filling, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey is _beyond_ satisfied with the care she got from Dr. Donnelly, but her friends are not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> technically this is less of a filler chapter than the last one because this does kinda contain plot kinda but y’know the filling is a cute chapter name so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Zoey felt fucking _awesome_ for the first time in a long time. A very, very, very long time... possibly ever.

Her uniform might’ve been on backwards... not that she particularly cared. She might’ve lost a leg on her pantyhose and be walking around with only one leg covered, and she didn’t care. All she cared about was the fact that she felt so good, it barely felt like she was walking around.

She felt a little bit uncomfortable in her underwear now, a little sticky still, even if she’d wiped herself off again, but it didn’t matter, because she didn’t care about anything. That doctor of hers had successfully fucked her brains out so good that she didn’t give a shit about anything going on.

The If You Like Piña Coladas Pie had been met with rave reviews, and a performance of the Jimmy Buffet song it was named after was given to her by the patrons of the diner, and normally she would have cared a whole lot, she would have moaned and groaned and gone _Oh, god, not again_ , but didn’t you notice? She didn’t care. She just watched the performance and then shrugged it off, getting right back to work. 

Maybe it wasn’t that she didn’t care about anything going on around her... maybe it was just that’s her cared so much about the mind blowing, awesome sex that she had just had that it was hard to wrap her head around anything else, much less, wrap her head around something as complex as caring about anything else.

For the first time in a long time, the cloud of _Max_ and what he might do to her if she did something wrong, or what he might do to her if he didn’t like her doing her best, or if he was just having a bad day or he was drunk... she didn’t let it hang over her. Zoey didn’t let it influence a single move, a single thing she said, she just smiled, laughed, talked to customers like she was their best friend... and a table of six old friends at Table 23 who she’d laughed with over an embarrassing story had liked her so much that they’d tipped her close to thirty or forty percent of their very large check... and she wasn’t talking eggs and bacon and a piece of pie for dessert, she was talking a huge breakfast for each of the six and multiple rounds of pie.

“Alright, so, did you finally try that CBD shampoo I gave you?” Autumn asked finally.

And that was when Zoey stopped and realized that she had been humming a cute little Britney Spears song as she made pies in the spice cabinet. Zoey wasn’t exactly one to hum, much less, one to him cute little romantic Britney Spears songs. 

She was humming a cute little Britney song, smiling, laughing, adding on to Tracy’s story about what Ed had done on that trip to the Grand Canyon back in ‘86, laughing so much with them that they ordered seconds and thirds of pie, twenty eight slices of pie. They’d decided to try every single piece of pie that they had available because they loved Zoey so much and loved her pies so much... 

Zoey had gone soft, and it had paid off, but _holy shit._ She was giggling and chatting and being openly happy... when did she _do that?_

Mindblowingly amazing sex aside, she needed to stop that right that very instant, or the stupid happy grin she was probably wearing would probably get stuck on her face.

“Oh, no, I didn’t. Sorry, Autumn,” Zoey said, relaxing her facial muscles and realizing that she’d been smiling so big and for so long that her face was almost numb. 

“Are you sure? Because the Zoey Richman that _I_ know would have never gossiped with a table of senior citizens,” Mo pointed out. “You were smiling all morning... now, for anyone else, I would consider that a good thing, maybe a little creepy, but that’s out of character and strange for the Zoey I know. And worrying.”

“I was just... I woke up on the right side of bed today,” Zoey said slowly. Well, she had literally woken up on the right side of the bed, so it wasn’t a lie... but she had also woken up to the fact that incredible sex was a possibility for her.

“You didn’t even realize how happy you’ve been acting until Autumn pointed it out, and now you’re not smiling some happy go lucky smile... alright, maybe you aren’t high... maybe you’re just weird.”

“High can come and go in waves with that shampoo... believe me. It’s bad. I’m pretty fucking certain she’s high, Mo,” Autumn argued.

“Gosh, I can’t be happy for three seconds of my life?” Zoey asked, jokingly sarcastic.

“Yeah, no, you can’t, because it’s woefully out of character for you,” Mo said flatly.

“Alright, so, I... just need to go back to being sad and mopey?”

“Yeah, go back to putting all your feelings in a pie and just stubbornly pretending that you’re fine, please,” Mo said.

“Yeah, Mo, you’re gonna... what the hell?”

Mo was already moving away from her, heading out the door. “I got more important things to worry about, though, so good luck with your happiness!”

“I’m sorry, what the fuck?” Zoey said, turning to Autumn. Now, Mo, she couldn’t stand up to, but if she really, really wanted to, Zoey could probably beat Autumn up. She didn’t want to... but she could certainly verbally beat her up.

“I... Zoey, it’s... you’re never happy. And it’s worrying, okay? Can I make you some coffee so maybe you’ll calm down?”

“Oh, Jesus _Christ_ ,” Zoey sighed, patting a crust into place in her tin. “Alright, fine, I’ll quit being happy. But Autumn, I did connect with that table of old folks... they gave me a big, nice, fat tip. It felt _good_ , being giddy for once.”

Autumn just shook her head. “You’re so weird, Zoey Richman.”

____________________

Going home later that night, Zoey’s bubbly happiness (that she’d mostly expressed internally after Mo and Autumn’s little intervention) faded away as she realized what she was going home to.

She was going home to the man who would probably throw her out a window if he found out what she had just done... she had had sex with another man. Who did that? Even if he was a horrible, horrible person... Zoey couldn’t handle what he was going to do to her if he found out.

He wouldn’t find out unless she told him, because he didn’t care enough about her to even know what gynecologist she was going to, so unless she sat there and told him that she had had sex with another man, he wasn’t finding out.

But there was another issue... the fact that she had just had the best sex of her life and now she was going home to the absolute bane of her existence.

As she sat on the bus, unfortunately right by a drafty window and unable to move because an older gentleman had sat down next to her, she thought about that house... that 1970s split level with the brown carpet and brown walls and the green accents and the terrible kitchen counters and the terrible table... it wasn’t a house anyone would have _ever_ been proud of, even when it was new.

And it showed the scars of Max’s presence. There was a door with a hole in it because he’d put his fist through it one day when he was mad, and she had ducked out of the way just in time to avoid it, there was a door without a knob because she’d locked herself in it one day when he was threatening to kill her during one time where he was convinced that she had it out for him and wanted to suffocate him with a pillow when he had woken up with a pillow on his face and was still drunk, and in response to his wife being so terrified of him that she locked the door, he managed to take the handle out of the door and had never put it back.

Almost everything in that house was broken... and until today she’d assumed that one of those broken things was her.

That morning had shown her that being unbroken, that being new and fresh and alive was _possible._ That feeling _good_ was possible... whoever his wife was, she must be dancing in the halls every day of her life, with sex that good.

Oh... oh and that. She was _the other woman._ She was helping a man cheat on his wife, and she knew that the wife existed. That was certainly a cheery thought... especially since Max had been known to have extramarital affairs before.

And when Zoey had found out, he had told her that if she tried to leave he would kill her, so what was she supposed to do? What if Dr. Donnelly was secretly that kind of person to his wife and she was the twenty-something that he was cheating with... even if she was in her thirties?

But _still_... the fact that he had made her feel like a human being for the first time in a very long time... the fact that she had felt fucking amazing for the entire day, while fucking _waitressing..._ he had done that to her. He had fucked her brains out so good that her brain was too fucked out to be anything other than giddy all day.

But she couldn’t do this. Her happiness... to ruin a marriage for _her happiness_ was selfish, horribly, horribly selfish... she could not do that to another woman. She could not, and would not.

There weren’t really any other options for gynecology in this town, though, nowhere closer than an hour away with a practice, so she had to stay with him... but from now on, it would be strictly professional. No more having bad ideas, she would go see him every six weeks like he wanted, push out a baby, and then call it a day. There would be no body parts touching and no inappropriate touching at all... he would have to touch her vajayjay, but that was his job, so she wasn’t going to stop him from doing that.

A part of her... a small corner of her brain, the one bit of her brain that held her stubborn nature, but, unlike every other bit of her, hadn’t given herself over in defeat to Max, whispered brokenly, _you have the opportunity to be happy, to be that giddy all day every day of your life._

But she pushed it aside, because she didn’t want to get murdered, and she didn’t want to ruin someone else’s life.

_I Don’t Want To Get Murdered By My Husband Pie_

A splash of cold water across the face, or, in pie form, since she couldn’t cook that in a shell, something to deliver a shock... a sudden zing of lime juice. Blood oranges beaten to a bloody pulp, like she would be, blueberries, because that was the color her eyes would be when he was done with her.

_He’s My Doctor Pie_

Just a shell, because that was all she was going to be from now until she left Max... just a shell of a person, tucked away inside for safety, only able to come out at work, where she walked around all day in uncomfortable old shoes (white sneakers, yes, but she bleached them every Saturday night, because Eddy had taken notice of how brown they had gotten and told her to do something about it or get new shoes.) This was it for her... the next few months were just about raising enough money to get the hell out of there. Maybe stick some collard greens in the shell... showing how she was hiding the money. Hiding herself. Although, she didn’t think collard greens were the best thing to represent her with.

As she entered the house, thankfully without Max’s pickup in the driveway, she set her mind to making dinner, and to not even thinking about Dr. Donnelly for one more _second._ Now was about having a baby and saving enough money to _have_ a _baby._

Zoey got the leftover chicken pot pie she’d snagged from work and set to getting it in the oven, and it was a full sized one that just hadn’t been eaten but couldn’t keep overnight, so Max would have whatever he wanted from it and she would eat whatever he didn’t, saying she was going to take a shower while he ate, and when she came back, with the plate pushed aside, she’d quietly take whatever he’d left and eat it at the table in the kitchen, staring at a pile of junk mail he refused to throw away sitting on the counter next to the refrigerator.

He came home, and things transpired just like that... he ate the pie while she showered, showering off every last bit of evidence that she’d ever done anything _extra_ , and she ate what he left (less than a quarter of it, and she hadn’t had anything else to eat all day, which probably wasn’t healthy for the baby, but she’d find a way to snag something for herself the next day.)

At night, thankfully, he didn’t try to initiate sex, so she just laid there, listening to his even breathing and staring at the ceiling fan, on the lowest setting, slowly whirling around, barely enough to cause even the slightest breeze, but Zoey stared at it, counting the fan blades, one, two, three, twenty seven, three hundred and sixty two...

She gave up on trying to fall asleep after she’d counted to nine hundred and eighty five, and slowly, as quietly and inconspicuously as she could, slid out of bed, padding down the hall into the bathroom and sitting on the toilet silently, without bothering to pull down her pants, much less lift the lid off the seat.

Zoey stared at the wall across from her, which had originally been white but had been dirtied up by years of abuse, and was now a brownish greyish color, and there were scuff marks on it, memories. None of them happy.

This was what she was offering up to a baby who had done absolutely nothing wrong, this was what she was offering up as if it was _okay._

She didn’t need to have some silly affair with some silly doctor to make herself feel better... she needed to have some _sense_ and leave Max as soon as she won that pie contest.

Take the bus into the next big town, where there was a Greyhound station, and from there, she could go _anywhere_ , she could connect to anywhere in the damn country, other than Alaska and Hawaii, though not to scale.

Take her money, take all the cash she’d stashed, steal a pie tin from the diner, and go put a down payment on a building in some town somewhere far far away, and build her own little pie shop from the ground up.

Damnit, it was a dream, but every day, it seemed more and more and more like she could do it. Like she was capable... like she was _more than capable._ All she needed was the money and the right moment.

And Dr. Donnelly that morning had shown her that she could achieve happiness... and she was now telling herself that just because she knew she could be happy with Dr. Donnelly, didn’t mean that should, or was, the only possible source of happiness for her. 

So it was a nice little thing to do once, but never again. She would just have to do with crappy sex for another few months, and then Zoey Clarke would be out of here, gone before Max had the chance to even say _you will still be mine._

So Zoey allowed herself to drift for the next week, and then the week after that, existing, just as she was, not being worrying happy or worryingly nonexistent, because any huge shift in her mood apparently offended Mo and Autumn to no end, and making pies. She was good at that... she would continue to be good at that, no matter what.

Even if she came in one morning to see that one of the lights in the kitchen was on, and she nervously walked into the kitchen, figuring that someone had just accidentally left the light on accidentally, but then when there was a clattering noise of something falling...

_Probably a raccoon,_ she reassured herself. _Just gotta scare it off and get it out the door, and figure out what it got into._

But when she nervously went around the counter with the red vinyl stools, and then to the pass at the kitchen, she saw something much different than a raccoon.

She saw Mo and Eddy, and a whole lot more of either of them than she ever needed to see as long as she lived.

What was worse was that _they were naked together._

Zoey yelped and stumbled backwards, just as Mo made a sound that she did _not_ want to hear, and Zoey felt herself trip over the edge of the counter.

_More bruises! Yay!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but mo even not in this au HE WOULD. HE FUCKING WOULD.
> 
> zoey: oh yay more pain! this is fine.


	15. i (wanted it) didn’t plan it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mo gets _very_ upset at Zoey, The Bennetts come to the diner again, and a new character is introduced halfway through the damn fic.

“You alright, Zoey?” Mo called, and she heard him starting to make his way over to her... and like, no. Not even if she was mortally wounded... _no._

“I’m alright, do _not_ come over here until you are _clothed!_ Zoey shrieked. 

She hadn’t been much hurt, she’d just gotten a good whack to the head on the tiled back of the customer counter, and she had briefly had the wind knocked out of her, but she didn’t care. There was a much, much more pressing problem... and that was _what was permanently burned into her brain forever._

Both Eddy and Mo were apologizing to her, now, and Zoey just drew herself into a sitting position, back against the bottom of the counter, like she was just casually sitting there, not like she was waiting for her boss and one of her best friends to get dressed after she had caught them in something of a _sexual embrace._

“Alright, honey, you’re really okay, huh?” Mo asked, appearing from the kitchen, this time, thankfully, clothed, in his waitress uniform, wig put back on, and looking like nothing at all had happened. Completely casually existing.

“I’m fine... but you... you must be running a fever.” Maybe it was a little bit hypocritical of Mo, seeing as she’d taken off her uniform for someone else two weeks ago, but that wasn’t... he didn’t know that. And she intended on keeping it that way.

“No, I’m not... look, Zoey.. you aren’t my mother... I can do whatever the damn hell I want. And it was an accident.”

“I mean, you _can_ , but _should you?_ Besides, he can’t... Eddy can’t _accidentally_ trip and fall into your vajayjay!”

Mo sighed, sinking down next to Zoey on the floor, but maintaining a foot of distance between them... not that it mattered, Mo had sprayed on some sort of perfume and now smelled like how perfume companies wanted you to think a field of roses smelled like. Truthfully, a field of roses didn’t smell like anything because roses didn’t have a strong enough smell to smell like a field of roses, and the smell they did have wasn’t pleasant. But that was not very high on Zoey’s list of worries right now! 

“I don’t even _have_ a vajayjay, Zoey.”

“Regardless! You had sexual intercourse with Eddy... you know, the bane of your existence? How many times has the guy threatened to fire you?”

“Yeah, well... it’s kinda a love hate relationship. Enemies to lovers... isn’t it romantic? Not that... it’s just sex. Not romance.”

“That’s... I don’t think romantic is the word _I_ would use...”

“Well, it’s certainly _sexy._

Zoey opened her mouth to try and protest that, but closed her mouth, because... okay, yeah, Mo was right. That kinda was a sexy concept... at least on paper.

In practice... it made for an image Zoey would spend a long time trying to unsee, but she would never, ever unsee it.

“You’re having an affair, Mo, and you still won’t leave Phyllis? You know, the person who makes you not feel good and you have to change her diapers? That’s... uhhhh... I’m sorry, but like... you’re not getting abused. You have every opportunity, every right to leave... and you don't. You’re not happy! So leave her ass!”

Zoey could get really fucking frustrated with Mo sometimes... and this was one of those times. Mo wasn’t being threatened with death if he left Phyllis, who was perfectly nice, but incontinent, and it didn’t matter if she was perfectly nice or not, because Mo wasn’t happy with her, the end! So, since Mo could leave her... the fact that he didn’t was _infuriating._ She was risking getting seriously hurt by planning to leave... he could just not come home.

And she _wished_ she had his life... she’d gladly change diapers rather than be with Max.

“I’m not leaving Phyllis because I love her... even if I’m not happy I love her.”

“Mo, that does not make an _ounce_ of sense. And besides... it’s not like you’re having an affair with someone... it’s Eddy! He’s been married to Ethel for twenty years!”

“Yeah, and he and Ethel haven’t had sex in fifteen of those years... they’re both gay and just staying together because _Jesus_.”

“Okay, okay, fine, but they’ve... they know they’re not having sex together, yeah? They’ve agreed to have sex with other human beings?”

“What does it matter to you what agreements Eddy and Ethel have? He has nice strong hands and I haven’t had sex in so damn long... it was getting quiet downstairs.”

“But that... then leave Phyllis, Mo!”

“I don’t need to leave my wife, whom I love, just because I’m unhappy.”

“You’re not even staying together for Jesus... you’re religious but not that religious. And you’re gay!”

“I’m gay, yeah, and maybe I’m not staying with her for Jesus, but... damnit, Zoey, this has got nothing to do with you! This is my own private business and you have no right to stick your nose into it.”

“You should have thought about the fact that I always come in in the morning long before anyone else does... even if you got there early I was always going to come in pretty soon after... it was poor planning.”

“It was an _accident._ Look, Zoey... stay out of my business.”

“God, I would love to, honestly! But that would require no accidentally tripping and falling onto his penis behind the counter.”

“Good grief, Zoey... why don’t you go hide in your pantry and make another Zoey And Her Bullshit Pie?”

“What? Why are you so offended by me not being okay with this? Is this... you’ve got it all figured out, huh? The World According To Mo? That would be a good pie name, I think.”

Mo shook his head at Zoey and stood up... and she wasn’t even surprised when he burst into song.

_Go ahead_

_Throw your rocks at me_

_From your little glass house_

_And then take off running._

He had his hands on his hips, looking down at Zoey, like somehow he was superior to her... and he wasn’t. But he didn’t know that she had put the pap back in smear with Dr. Donnelly, so... maybe he was a little bit superior. At least it wasn’t his gynecologist.

_You're no better than me_

_We've both made mistakes, haven't we?_

Mo in the song didn’t know that Zoey had had some dirty dirty naughty sex with Dr. Donnelly... right? Maybe... he was probably just referring to the fact that it had taken her this long to decide that she was going to leave Max. 

_I won't undo what I'm doing_

_Just to sit in judgment of what makes us human_

_I don't claim to be proud_

_But my head won't be hung in shame!_

Zoey stood up, not one to be sung down to, and walked away, heading for her pantry to start in on the day’s pies. Unfortunately, Mo followed her.

_I didn't plan it_

_But the light turned red, and I ran it_

_And I'm still standing_

_It's not what I wanted, but now that it's right here_

_I understand it_

_A story written by my own hand, it's..._

_It’s life biting right at your heels_

Mo sang to her like a plea, like she was telling Zoey to go do something herself... like she wanted her to go have an affair of her own. Or to understand why she did it.

And Zoey would never admit it to Mo’s face, but... she did understand. She understood how Mo felt- not exactly, because Mo was still way better off than her, but... _still._ She understood the drive, the desire she hadn’t been able to overcome, the unbreakable _want_ for something _more._

_I didn't plan it_

_But it's finally something to feel_

_Oh, I..._

_Look around you_

_Ain't no saints here, baby_

_We're all just looking for a little less crazy_

Mo had his hands placed down on the table as Zoey stubbornly rolled out the pie crust dough she’d pulled out of the refrigerator, stubbornly not watching him as he sung and _stubbornly_ not admitting that she _knew how he felt._

_And sometimes, it's a hard left turn_

_Down a road you never thought you'd see_

_I didn't plan it_

_Taking back what's been taken for granted_

_And I can't stand it_

_I'm sick of the way I've been waiting to break free_

Mo came up to her on the other side of the table, turning around to force her to look him in the eye, listen to his words.

_I needed saving_

_And a good mistake needed making_

_Maybe you need the same thing_

Oy vey. Oy vey. Oh no. Oh god.

_Something to feel_

_To race through your blood_

_And remind you you're here_

_To open your eyes and look around_

_And see the sky when you're underground_

_I didn't plan it_

_But that's life_

_And I'm finally feeling alive_

_And so did Zoey._ When she had had sex with Dr. Donnelly, she felt alive, free and fresh, happy and _amazing._

_It's not right, but it's mine_

__

__

_And it's finally something to feel_

“You just sang to me... fine, I get it. But no more songs, alright?” Zoey said flatly.

“Oh, I did? I’d apologize, but I’m pretty pissed at you at the moment-“

“No. Mo, just... whatever. Have sex with whoever you want... just let me make my goddamn pies,” Zoey cut in, holding up a hand to signal to him to _stop._

Because she didn’t want to face the truth of the matter... that Dr. Donnelly had made her feel so, so good. 

She didn’t need to face that... she needed to make her pies.

_______________________

Unfortunately, that day, everyone’s _favorite_ patrons came to the diner... lovely, lovely, Mr. & Mrs. Bennett. And Zoey would have told Mo that he would be waiting on them or she would tell Autumn what had happened that morning, but she had been taking a drink order when they had come in and sat down, and Joan had locked eyes with her and beckoned her over.

“I know we’re probably not in your station, but you’re our favorite waitress... well, you’re _my_ favorite waitress,” Joan explained. “And again, I am so, so, so sorry for last time. Really, I am.”

“That’s alright... well, welcome to Joan’s... Joan, Mr. Bennett. What can I get y’all started off with to drink?”

“Coffee and a water with lemon,” Mr. Bennett told her flatly, not looking up from his phone that he’d already pulled up.

And she was standing in a position, next to the booth seat Mr. Bennett was sitting in, facing Joan, that if she looked out of the corner of her eye...

He was texting a woman, and the contact name was a damning ‘Maddison❤️🥂’. Maddison, who had just sent him a very _inappropriate_ image of herself. 

And she knew he owned businesses, he wasn’t exactly into telehealth.

“And for you, Mrs. Bennett?”

“Oh, go back to calling me Joan, I liked that much better. I’ll have a sweet tea... and I’d like my desert before my meal. Can I have a slice of that Bacon From Macon Pie?”

“Certainly... anything for you to start with, Mr. Bennett?”

“Guess if you have to be on a first name basis with my _wife_ ,” he began, spitting out the word _wife_ like it was a dirty word and yet still not looking up at her, “Call me Charlie. And no, absolutely not, I just want the goddamn coffee and water.”

“Charlie, we can’t keep coming here and being rude to the waitress. Cut it out, I’m serious,” Joan protested.

“I will act to her however I damn please.”

“I’ll... get that pie and those drinks right out for you,” Zoey said, making a beeline for anywhere but here.

In the kitchen as Zoey filled drinks, Mo came up behind her. “I’ll take the Bennetts if you want, we agreed I had them next anyway.”

“Oh, they specifically asked for me... I can’t get out of it. Apparently I’m their _favorite._ ”

“Oh, _lovely..._ , well, if you need to stop... I don’t want you getting spooked like last time.”

“I won’t, I promise. I’ve got this... but, uh...” she lowered her voice. She wasn’t really able to keep information like this to herself. “You’re not gonna mention what I’m about to tell you to anyone for the rest of your life... but he’s sitting there at the table texting another woman.”

“I’m sorry... what the fuck?”

“You heard me,” Zoey said, giving Mo a chagrined look as she poured Charlie’s all too important coffee. “Right across the damn table!”

“My god... the _gall_ of that man,” Mo hissed.

“This is not gossip hour! Get to work!” Eddy ordered from the flat top.

At least some things didn’t change.

“Charlie, you have to get off your phone and talk to me at some point in your life, don’t you want to save this marriage?” That was what Joan was on when Zoey came back with the drinks.

“Do I?” Charlie responded.

“God... Charlie!”

They were in their late fifties, maybe early sixties, these people... and they were both clearly unhappy. Why was everyone around her, including herself, unhappily married? And how had Joan stood for it for so long? She wasn’t the kind of person who you would think would keep herself in an unhappy marriage, she was the kind of person you’d think would have some agency over herself and would have left him years and years and years ago.

“Alright, coffee and water with lemon for you, Mr. B- Charlie... and sweet tea for you, Joan, and a slice of that Bacon From Macon Pie.”

“Thank you,” Joan said, while Charlie silently and sullenly unwrapped his straw paper and stuck it in his drink. 

“I gotta ask, is this bacon really from Macon?” Joan asked.

“No, it’s not, but it makes for a catchy name, huh? And it’s not all bacon, it’s also got cheese, dried cucumber-“

“I’m having the Classic, sausage, don’t you dare give me bacon, eggs over easy,” Charlie interrupted.

“Charlie, be rude to that waitress one more time, I swear to god, and our relationship is over.”

“I would quite like that, actually, it would mean I wouldn’t have to deal with you nitpicking my every move.”

“Well you-“

“I’m awfully sorry to butt in,” Zoey interrupted. She just could not _take this anymore._ “If you would like to bicker, do it outside, but I can’t take your orders properly if you’re fighting and talking all over each other, even if one’s being rude to the other or me, I don’t... just give me your roses, please, if you can’t be pleasant... or at least polite?”

“Oh... sorry,” Joan said, giving her a very sincere apology with her eyes. Charlie just grunted.

“Charlie-!”

“No. Do it outside if you’re going to do it. But not in here. Classic Breakfast for Charlie, sausage, eggs over easy. What’ll you be having, Joan?”

“Oh... uh... Eggs Benedict?”

“Alright, and you get one side with that. Hashbrowns, grits, potatoes, fruit cup, or-“

“Grits, please... and I’m sorry,” Joan said, tugging Charlie’s unopened menu out from under his hands (still looking at his phone), and handing her both of them. Zoey took them with a warm customer service-y smile.

“Thank you, that’ll be right out,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away as fast as she could, without doing an all out run. She’d never taken out her order pad, but she didn’t stop, and quickly scribbled down the order only after she’d ducked into the safety of the kitchen, and then handed it to Eddy.

She was at the end of her wits with them... fighting was healthy, but not in front of literally everyone else in the restaurant... she just needed them to _stop._

“How’s it going with The Crankies?” Autumn asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“Fine, fine, just gotta make sure I escape the radius as soon as I can after they order. They just... they go on and on and on.”

“Well... hey, isn’t it Mo’s turn for them?”

“Uh, they asked for me specifically... apparently I’m their favorite.”

“Now, normally, I’d be a little bit miffed that they didn’t like me, but it’s the _Bennetts..._ I’m okay with not being their favorite.”

“I don’t think it’s anything personal... I think I’m just the most inoffensive. I just... exist, I guess. Or they like my warm demeanor and kind smiles.”

“Smiling? You don’t smile. Unless you’re being weird.”

“Thanks, Autumn... thanks,” Zoey said slowly. “Alright, well, maybe I’ll get to- oop, and there’s someone new, sitting down in my station. So much for relaxing with my pies.”

Autumn giggled. “The carousel never stops turning.”

Hey, that wouldn’t be a bad idea for a pie...

Zoey strode out to the new table, this one with only one person sitting at it - a man probably actually her age but who looked younger, with brown skin, brown eyes that seemed to take in everything around him and catalogue it meticulously, like maybe they’d make something sad in him feel better. He had thick black hair in curls on top of his head and in a full beard, mustache and everything.

Zoey hated how good she was at reading people. This man was _sad_ , and she couldn’t do anything about it than serve up some of today’s special... the Emotional Toll Pie.

“Hi, welcome to Joan’s,” Zoey said, resisting the urge to add a nice southern _hun_ or _sweetheart_. 

“Hi... I’m new in town, figured I needed to check out all the restaurants I could. This is the first one I’ve tried.”

“Well, you came to the right place... not to toot my own horn... but to toot my own horn, I make every single pie fresh every day, all twenty seven of the regulars and a new pie I make up every day.”

He smiled at her, crinkling up the corners of his eyes. “Well, in that case... I’ll have today’s special pie... Emotional Labor Pie. Wow, what was the inspiration for that?”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know. Alright, a slice of that... anything to drink, sir?”

“Oh, just a water... and since it’s just me and I don’t need a ton of time to look over the menu... I’ll just have the Eggs Benedict, with a fruit cup.”

“Damn, that’s popular all of a sudden... that’s the second Benedict I’ve had ordered in the past ten minutes,” Zoey said. Normally she wouldn’t do a lot of chit-chat and Southern Hospitality™, but he looked particularly sad, like he needed it. 

“Alright, can I ask you a question?” He asked.

“Uhh, sure?” Oh god... he was going to turn out to be one of those people who asked for her number in the middle of the diner, wasn’t he?

“What’s the deal with that couple over there?” He asked softly, pointing discreetly at the Bennett’s booth.

“Oh, the Bennetts... they own the place. Their marriage has been in this place for almost as long as I can remember.”

“Huh... guess I’d better get used to it, then, if the pie’s as good as you say... I’ll come back. There’s not really a ton of options, though, so...”

“Well, why’d you come here?”

“Oh, I work in marketing for a tech company, we’re based in New York and we have a branch in Atlanta, so they wanted me to move out here and expand our community outreach or whatever... figure out marketing strategies for rural communities via baptism by fire.”

“Well, we don’t even all have internet, so unless your company lays fiber optic cables, you might be out of luck.”

“Damnit! So this whole six month assignment, I’ll just have to write reports saying the same thing every month and eat pie? Sounds good to me!” He joked. Zoey smiled.

“Well, I’m Zoey, and if you ever need a pie in a pinch... I mean, I’m sure Joan’s would be more than happy to cater if your company ever has the need. I don’t exactly know why I’m promoting this to you, but... we exist.”

He laughed again. “I’m Simon, Simon Haynes... I’ll be sure to call if there’s ever a catering need.”

“Alright, well, Simon, I’ll get that pie right out and that Benedict cooking,” Zoey said.

And across the room, she heard Joan ask in a quiet, almost deadly voice, “You’re selling the diner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do love simon, and at one point i was gonna make this a zimon au. however... he’s just gonna get his own tiny little C-plot (d-plot, since we have the mo and eddy subplot? e-plot because there’s also autumn and tobin and the bennetts??? aaaaaa)


End file.
